


A Perfect Gentleman

by Whiskyandtobacco



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Virginity, Porn With Plot, Romance, Shameless Smut, Star-crossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 76,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27798709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whiskyandtobacco/pseuds/Whiskyandtobacco
Summary: Starts a day or two after 'School Hard' and goes AU almost immediately. Spike is forced into an unexpected role when the Slayer is mortally wounded. Is he really just keeping her alive so he can have the epic fight to the death he's dreamed about, or are stranger forces at work? Very explicit, but will also give Spuffy fans plenty of warm fuzzies. Completed on 5 February 2021.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 57
Kudos: 194





	1. Chapter 1

The demon reeled for a second, staggering back and colliding with an already-loose gravestone. For a moment, Buffy thought it might fall over and provide her the chance for a sudden, killing blow, but it recovered and launched itself at her a second time.

The hulking, gross-looking, faceless creature was a dirty shade of grey and covered in sharp spines like some kind of giant, demented hedgehog. Identifying it would be a yet another job for Giles and Willow- currently hunkered down in the school library researching William the Bloody after his attention-grabbing appearance at parents' night a couple of days ago. 

The huge demon slashed at her chest with its claws - they were longer than the spikes on its back and covered in a sort of weird yellow goo. The attack tore her shirt; only her quick hop backward prevented a far more serious injury. She swore, then rolled backwards out of range of the hedgehog-thing's grasp. To say it was giving her a run for her money was a bit of an understatement.

She was still wigged after having to help her mom escape a horde of vampires. Keeping her identity a secret was getting harder, and the stakes (pun not intended) seemed to keep getting higher. Despite the positive way they left things, Buffy couldn't help but think she had to be a bit suspicious about her daughter's unexpected people management and gymnastics skills.

She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. What was wrong with her? She was facing an unknown, creepier-than-usual demon in a dark cemetery and she was worrying about - what? Her secret identity? Her relationship with her mom? Hardly a priority right now. 

She redoubled her attack, hoping to force the creature back, but it met her blow for blow and she realised she was starting to tire. She fought the feeling, controlled her breathing and did a front flip over the demon's head, forcing it to turn round, and as it was spinning she roundhouse kicked its legs from under it. 

It fell and she tried to stab it in what she hoped was its chest, but the long dagger skittered off what seemed like a rock-hard carapace. Buffy swore and withdrew again as the beast lumbered back to its feet.

\-----

In the shadows, hidden by a willow tree, Spike took another drag on his cigarette as he watched the girl fight. He wanted to get as much research time in the bag as possible before he had his long-awaited showdown with the Slayer. From what he could see they'd be well-matched, and he was itching with anticipation and excitement. It would be another glorious, one-on-one battle against a truly worthy and formidable opponent, something he'd been waiting for since 1977. 

He wondered what trophy he would take from her. Certainly not an item of clothing: he wasn't sure that ripped, strappy top that was barely containing her perky tits would suit him quite as well as Nikki Wood's leather duster. 

\-----

Buffy rounded on the demon again, panting. She couldn't get close enough to do any real damage as it was so damn spiky. Plus it had stamina for days. She was just wondering whether to beat a tactical retreat and run back to her Watcher for some demon research and an energy drink when it suddenly howled and lunged forward, using its four scything claws to slash wildly at her exposed stomach. 

She stumbled, fell, and dropped her hand to her midriff. Blood spurted between her fingers and onto the grass, landing at the demon's feet. Somehow, despite not having a visible mouth, it made a blaring, trumpeting noise of triumph and lifted its other forelimb to finish the job. "Great", murmured Buffy softly. She tried to roll out of the way but her limbs wouldn't obey her. 

She felt like a broken marionette. 

Instead, while her life's blood continued to drain onto the ground, all she could do was shuffle backwards like a wounded animal. As the creature's claws descended all she could think about was her mother, how sad she'd be, how she should have told her....

Her train of thought was suddenly derailed as something in a long leather jacket barrelled into the side of the demon, knocking it off its feet and into a large stone sarcophagus that immediately broke in two. The dazed creature struggled slowly to its feet, but discovered Spike standing above it on one half of the broken tomb. The master vampire was in game face and he just laughed, full of amusement at his own skill, then reached down, placed his palms on either side of the lumpy, tulip-like protuberance on top of its body and snapped its neck.

The thing collapsed to the ground, immediately dissolving into a puddle of bile-yellow ichor. 

Spike chuckled again, then jumped down and walked across to the Slayer. How dare some mindless beast of a demon attempt to steal away his chance at a legendary showdown? The Slayer was his to kill, no one else's. His alone. 

Drawing closer to her, however, he realised that it might not be up to him after all. The girl was grievously hurt, her hand clasped to her stomach which was oozing a mixture of blood and the pus-like substance from four deep, serrated gashes. She appeared to be unconscious.

The smell of her blood made him twitch and tingle all over. He licked his lips: he could just drain her, drink her up now, fill his stomach with her power and glory. 

He sighed and shook off his game face, his features reverting back to human. Not like this. He didn't want to drink from her unless he was the one who delivered the coup de grace by besting her in a fair fight. He was no scavenger.

He wanted to look into the defeated Slayer's eyes as he sucked out her life force, watching the light fade and the spark inside her sputter out. He wouldn't consume another demon's leavings like a bottom-feeding fledgling. 

He huffed in frustration at the unexpected turn the evening had taken, then reached down and picked up the injured woman, cradling her in his arms before stalking off into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Buffy awoke in inky blackness with searing pain ripping through her. For a second she couldn't remember what had happened, but then it all came flooding back. The spine-covered demon, the slashing wound and then...did something kill the creature? That bit was a bit foggier. 

She reached down and tentatively touched her stomach. It had been bandaged, tidily and efficiently from what she could tell in the dark. 

Buffy felt the surface beneath her and touched cold, hard stone. So, not a hospital bed, then. Her vampire tinglies surged into overdrive as she sensed something move in the corner of the room. She tried to sit up, but she was incredibly weak. Weaker than she'd felt for years, even before she was activated. She fell back on the slab. Perhaps she was already dead: was this what death feels like? Lying awake in your own grave?

The vampire moved closer. "Slayer?" he purred. She recognised that low, menacing and yet somehow seductive voice. 

"You?" she replied. "What's going on? What are you doing? Where am I?"

Spike didn't reply. She heard (felt?) him move away from her and then there was the rasp of a match, and sudden light. She flinched and covered her face. 

He placed the torch he'd just lit back in its rusted metal holder. Buffy raised herself up on her elbows, wincing with the effort, and looked around. 

She was in a crypt, as she'd suspected. And Spike was lounging by the door, blocking her exit. As she caught his gaze, he raised an eyebrow, smiled evilly and then lit a cigarette straight from the flaming piece of wood beside him.

"Well, that answers my third question," said Buffy. "I'll ask the first one again as it seems you're either hard of hearing or hard of thinking - what is going on?"

He sidled towards her again, and Buffy had to fight her instincts, which were all screaming at her to run. She wasn't capable of it, and she didn't want him to see any signs of fear. She lifted her chin in a defiant gesture. "Well? Less walky, more talky."

"That's not exactly the 'thank you' for savin' your life I was hoping for, Slayer," said Spike, his expression suddenly inscrutable. 

"Saving my life? So it was you - you took out that...thing. Why?" she asked, more weakly than she'd intended. 

"'Cause I want to kill you myself," he said, simply. Buffy flinched at this - a tiny, involuntary movement that would have been undetectable to a human, but not to him.

Spike snorted and turned away.

"Not now, Slayer. Don't want some kind of sacrificial offering. I want you at the top of your game when I beat you down and take your life. Not flutterin' on a stone slab like a meek, wounded bird. Thought you were stronger than that."

He narrowed his eyes as he looked at her, and she suddenly felt a flush of embarrassment. 

"Hey, I was just...a little off my game tonight. That's all," said Buffy, stung by the implication she was anything but a worthy adversary for him. "You listen here, buddy, we can go right now. I'll kick your aaaaaa...."

Her angry assertions turned into a grimace of pain as her attempts to get up reopened one of the deep wounds in her stomach. Blood seeped through the bandage, which she noted - with some surprise - looked store bought and brand new. There were other first aid supplies nearby, including butterfly stitches and antiseptic. 

"You went to a drug store?" squeaked Buffy incredulously.

Spike rubbed the back of his head, it was his turn to look embarrassed.

"Well, yeah. I mean, there's one nearby, and I don't exactly keep a supply of human-fixin' equipment to hand. Just grabbed some stuff, is all. Didn't pay for it either. No need to make a big deal out of it."

Buffy's head was reeling. She lay back on the stone with a wince. "Not too sure about your bedside manner, Spike. Couldn't you have gotten me a pillow?"

"Well it's not like I live here or anything. You wouldn't catch me beddin' down in a soddin' crypt like some kind of discount-store Dracula," he snorted. 

"OK, so why didn't you take me home? Or to a hospital? Why play nursemaid?"

He snarled and leapt forward, startling her, then brought his face menacingly closer to hers. 

"I'm not. A bloody. NURSEMAID," he snarled. Then, in a more sullen tone, he muttered, "was just patchin' you up is all."

"So you can kill me later?" said Buffy with a frown. Spike narrowed his eyes. 

"Yes. Kill you in the proper way, Slayer," he growled. "With my hands crushing your throat and snapping your bones as I overpower you for the final time, and sink my fangs into your neck. I'm a warrior, I fight, it's what I do. It's what you do - though you fucked it up royally on this occasion."

"I said I was off my game tonight, that's all." Buffy was horrified to hear a slightly whiny note creep into her tone. She shook herself. "Anyway, you haven't answered my question."

Spike fell silent. The truth is, he wasn't sure why he hadn't just taken her and dumped her outside her home, or at the entrance to a hospital. When he'd picked her up he felt how light she was, she'd seemed so weak and vulnerable and all he could focus on was fixing her up and stopping the bleeding as quickly as possible. 

He knew how to staunch and stitch a wound, he'd lived long enough to have to do it a hundred times, often to himself. Vampires might heal quickly, but having one arm dangling by a thread could be pretty inconvenient.

"It was just...easier," said Spike, after a long silence. "You might not have made it to a hospital." 

Buffy reflected on that, feeling a creeping chill clutch at her chest. She might actually have died if it wasn't for him. 

"Maybe you missed your calling, Spike, she said with a pained laugh. "You could have been a doctor."

"Laugh at me all you want for now, Slayer," growled Spike, shifting into game face. "But you won't be laughing when I tear....hey, what's the matter?"

Buffy's head flew back and her hands started to claw at the rough stone beneath her fingers. She was fitting and the violent movements of her body were tearing open her wounds for a second time. Her blood began to flow again in earnest as Spike rushed to her side. Not knowing what else to do, he gathered the girl to his chest in a tight embrace. Crimson stains formed tie-die patterns on his white t-shirt as she lurched, bled, shuddered and finally lay still. 

"Slayer, can you hear me?" Spike asked, his tone low and more worried than he intended to sound. "Slayer?" he said again. Then, in a whisper: "Buffy?"

Her eyes opened in surprise at the sound of her name, and her surprise intensified when she realised she was clasped very tightly in his embrace. She pulled back and looked up at him, confused. 

"Spike? What...what happened?"

He bit back his instinctive response, which for some weird reason was to say "you gave me a scare, luv." Instead he said nothing. He could feel her heart thumping against his chest, he was surrounded by the intoxicating scent of her blood, and some very different kinds of feelings were stirring as a result. He suddenly realised his jeans felt uncomfortably tight. He let her go and turned away, abruptly.

"You had a fit," he said, tersely. "That's all. Happens when people lose blood. I should know."

He shucked out of his blood-stained T-shirt, and Buffy found herself confronted by the muscled expanse of his back. He was stunning, glowing like a recently unearthed Greek statue in the half light of the crypt's flickering torches. Her lips parted but she said nothing, struck dumb by the sight of him. The oversized leather coat had made him look quite slim, but he wasn't - not at all. He was tight, lean and - frankly - gorgeous.

As she watched him stalk across the crypt she suddenly realised just how hard she'd have to fight to beat him when their showdown finally came - if it ever did. 

She didn't want to admit it to the powerful vampire in the corner of the room, but she couldn't move her legs.


	3. Chapter 3

Spike retreated out of Buffy's line of sight and began to pace back and forth, running his hand through his slicked-back curls. He felt flustered and confused. His cock pressed against the seam of his jeans uncomfortably and he reached down to adjust himself, trying to forget the feeling of her small, perfect breasts pressed against his chest.

Sex, blood and death always went hand in hand for him, but this really didn't feel like the right time. He was meant to be plotting to end the Slayer, not fuck her. Yes he'd saved her - but in the same way a cat saves a mouse for later. He wanted to kill her at his leisure; play with her on his terms. Toy with her at length and take his pleasure by delaying the inevitable. And now his damn body was betraying him. And his head, too, for that matter.

As he fought to get himself back under control he heard muttered voices from the graveyard outside. "Soddin' hell, what now?" he grumbled, then went back into the main part of the crypt, not looking at Buffy, and shucked on his leather duster. It felt strange against his bare skin.

"Wait here," he said as he stalked out of the crypt, slamming the door behind him.

"Well I'm not exactly going anywhere, am I?" said Buffy softly to herself. 

\---

Spike stood in front of the crypt, his face contorted into vampiric ridges, his yellow-amber demon eyes scanning the dark graveyard. 

"Come out, come out, whoever you are," he called in a sarcastic, sing-song tone. God, he could do with a bloody drink.

Slowly, some of the shadows detached themselves from the darker pools of shade and started to move towards him. Vampires, all in full game face. Some still with the grave dirt on them, others clearly older. None as old as him, though.

"How can I help you fine gentlemen?" said Spike with a sneer. He leaned against the crypt wall and casually lit a cigarette. 

"We hear you have the Slayer in there," said one, gruffly, getting straight to the point. "Hand her over, or else."

"Or else what?" snapped Spike. "She's mine, you stupid fucking twats. Beat it now and I might even let you live."

"She's injured, we can smell it. Why haven't you killed her yet?" said another.

"That's my business," Spike replied, curtly. "Any other questions? No? Great - now please do us all a favour and piss off."

"It is our business," said one of the older vamps. He was tall, well built and dark-haired with a beard that he clearly spent a lot of time maintaining. Poof, thought Spike. 

"That little bitch has killed hundreds of vampires in Sunnydale, driven us underground, forced us to retreat into the damn sewers. If you have a chance to kill her, do it, don't waste it. We want her gone and if you won't drain her, we will."

He moved to try and pass Spike, but quick as a flash, the master vampire's hand reached out and grabbed Mr Fancy Beard's wrist, snapping it instantly.

"Oh no, I don't think so, mate," whispered Spike, twisting the other vampire's arm until he fell to his knees in pain. 

The rest of the pack snarled in unison and leapt to attack him. Spike fell back initially, but then rallied, trading blows with them, fending them off. He tore one fledge's head clean off, reducing it to dust which he theatrically brushed from his shoulders with a laugh, before plunging into the fray again. Before long, the mob were no more than ash blowing in the wind. 

Spike stretched, cocked his head to one side to work out a crick in his neck, shook off his game face and then headed back inside.

\----

He caught Buffy trying - and failing - to escape. In fact, he practically tripped over her as she shimmied along the floor, leaving a trail of blood behind herself like an injured snail. 

"What the hell are you doing?" asked Spike, more surprised than angry. 

Buffy struggled into a sitting position. "I'm leaving, Spike. Move out of my way."

Spike looked at her for a long minute. "Stand up, Slayer," he said in a low tone.

Buffy glanced to one side, not meeting his eyes. "No. I don't want to." She crossed her arms over her chest, wincing as the action made the blood-soaked bandages pull away from her wound.

"You can't walk," Spike said, softly, cocking his head, his expression inscrutable. 

"I can so! I just...don't feel like it just now." Buffy's defiant tone was at odds with her child-like pout and - underlying it all - her look of worry.

"Don't look at me like that!" she shouted, suddenly angry.

"Look at you like what?" said Spike, retreating. "What are you talking about, you daft bint?"

"You looked like you felt sorry for me. I don't need some monster's pity. I'll be up on my feet in no time. I'm sure it's just...temporary." 

She furrowed her brow and bit her lip. Spike tried hard not to notice how adorable her worried lip-biting was, and almost succeeded. What was wrong with him?

He wisely decided against saying anything else. Instead, he silently crossed the space between them, moving closer to her. 

"What's going on?" she said, uncertainly. 

He bent down and picked her up. Against literally all of her better judgement - not to mention untold centuries of inherited Slayer instincts - she forced herself to relax and let him lift her broken body. What else was she supposed to do right now?

Besides, there were worse things in the world than being held in those strong, sculpted arms, thought a tiny, traitorous voice in the back of her mind. 

He lay her back down on the slab, then paused for a second, looking down at her. For a long moment they held each others' gaze, then he just turned and left. 

"Spike?" said Buffy, alarmed. But just like that, he was gone. To her utter surprise, her stomach flipped and fell in dismay.

"Don't leave me," she whispered, weakly, just before darkness crept into her vision and she passed out again, the back of her head smashing into the hard stone.


	4. Chapter 4

When she awoke for a second time, for a fleeting moment she thought that she must be at home and that the whole 'being sliced open by a demon' thing had all been a dream. A warm blanket covered her and someone had placed a cushion under her sore head. But when she opened her eyes, she saw the cobwebbed ceiling of the crypt. She sighed. 

"Spike, are you there?" she called. 

There was no reply. But she could feel that he was; his presence loomed large in her mind, almost overwhelming her. It was a far stronger sensation that the tingling she felt when Angel was near. She didn't allow herself to wonder what that meant.

"Spike, come here," she said, more loudly. Then, in a quieter tone: "please?"

She sensed him move across the chamber until he finally appeared in her line of sight. The pain from her wounds had lessened, but she still couldn't move her legs. He didn't try to help her, and instead just watched, silently, as she struggled into a sitting position. She looked down at the quilt. It had unicorns and rainbows on it.

Buffy looked up at him, arching an eyebrow quizzically.

"What?" he snapped, looking flustered.

"Where did you even get this?" asked Buffy. She laughed, despite herself. 

"I broke into a shop. Why, don't you like it?" He actually looked offended, and she found herself offering up a quick "no, sorry, it's fine" in an attempt to mollify him.

She had just apologised to a monster. A monster who seemed to be holding her hostage. Somehow she'd found herself reliving the plot of Beauty and the Beast, but with fewer talking clocks and far more gaping stomach wounds. 

And she doubted that this Billy Idol lookalike vamp was actually a handsome prince in disguise. 

There was another awkward silence, then Spike asked: "can you move your legs yet?" 

Buffy shook her head. 

"I think that I damaged something in my back when I fell. I don't know what happened really, I can't remember."

Spike sighed. So much for his showdown. William the Bloody versus a crippled Slayer - that wasn't exactly going to go down in history. 

Maybe he should just take her to Dru now, let his dark princess drain her as a delicious starter before the main meal that was Angel. This whole thing was ridiculous. Why the fuck had he bought her a blanket? And a sodding cushion? What the hell was going on in his mind? 

As Buffy watched his face, her heart sank. The vampire was clearly debating whether to kill the wounded bird he'd found after all. 

For a moment, she felt like a lost child. Her emotions boiled in her chest, a mix of genuine fear, sadness and more than a touch of anger. Why had he saved her from that demon in the first place? He should have just let it finish her off. She got the feeling that it would have been much quicker than whatever weird torture Spike had planned. 

"Spike, let me go," said Buffy, her voice carrying a note of steely determination and confident command that was the absolute opposite of how she felt. "This has gone on long enough. Take me home, please."

She hadn't meant to say the 'please', and she certainly hadn't intended for her voice to crack and wobble on the word 'home.' 

Her haughty imperiousness hadn't taken long to crumble. Where was her mom with an ax when she needed her?

"Can't do that, sweetheart," said Spike, thickly, shaking his head. He'd put on a clean T-shirt under his jacket at some point while she'd been unconscious. Buffy felt a slight twinge of disappointment. Damn, what was going on here? She was about to get killed and all she could think of was 'I wish I could see my murderer's work-of-art chest one last time.'

"You can't keep me here forever, Spike. What's the plan?" she asked, despite not really wanting to know the answer.

Spike looked at her slyly, his high cheekbones glinting in the soft torchlight as he turned to fully face her. He hadn't vamped out, but nevertheless his face looked inhuman, cold and aloof. All hard, sharp lines and flat planes. 

"I can do whatever I want, Slayer," he sneered, eyes flashing in the semi-dark. "You're hardly in a position to object, are you?" He reached out and ran his thumb over her lips, making her shudder and pull away - not (entirely) in revulsion.

Buffy felt fear and - something else - flutter inside her chest. Some of the fluttering was taking place a little lower in her body, in fact. 

She flushed bright red. 

"What exactly do you mean by that?" she asked, knowing full well what he meant. She might be a virgin, but she wasn't stupid.

Spike moved even closer to the prone Slayer, his actions flowing and predatory. 

He was rock hard again, he realised, and this time around he was less troubled by that fact. She didn't seem to have noticed, but he didn't exactly care if she did.

"What do you want it to mean?" he asked with a lascivious grin that should have been gross, but on his ridiculously well defined face looked, well, almost appealing. 

He ran his other hand through her hair, which had come loose from the high ponytail she'd been wearing while fighting the demon earlier in the evening, if it was even still the same day. Time seemed to have got a bit tangled in her mind.

Buffy felt herself flush, then wiggled in an attempt to move away from him. As she did, she felt a sort of pricking sensation in her lower legs. Without making it too obvious, she attempted to move her toes, and succeeded. 

Finally, she thought. 

Her stomach wounds were healing quite quickly. All she had to do was delay Spike until she got the use of her legs back and she should be able to fight her way out of here. He'd still be in better condition than her, but long as she could keep him from discovering her secret, the element of surprise would be a big help. 

But how the hell would she be able to hold him off and distract him until then?


	5. Chapter 5

Spike felt his blood lust surge inside him, fuelled by hunger, horniness and the sensation of having a helpless young woman at his mercy. His hopes of a bold, bright, memorable and savage battle with the Slayer had been keeping his immediate urges in check. He had wanted to delay his pleasure, but why bother if she wouldn't be able to fight him after all? 

Plus, something about the way she had started to speak to him - and look at him - was really getting under his skin, as if she thought he wasn't a threat. Well, he'd show her. 

He shook his head, and let his demon out. 

Buffy cringed as Spike's face twisted and his clear blue eyes turned a feral yellow. She wasn't strong enough to get to her feet - not yet. Instead, as he lunged forward she rolled off the slab onto the hard floor, wincing as the sudden impact forced all of the air from her lungs with an 'oof'. She yelped in pain and the stupid blanket fell and tangled on top of her, covering her head - she fought to push it out of the way. 

As she thrashed, Spike was suddenly on top of her, shockingly heavy, pinning her to the ground. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it down, staring at her, locking his demonic, hypnotic eyes with her mossy green ones until she gave in and fell still. A very secret, deep-down, base part of her really wanted to know what he was going to do next. 

Once he was sure he had Buffy's full attention, Spike leisurely shucked off his jacket and tossed it aside.

A moment later he shifted his weight, and she felt his cock pressing against her, huge and hard. She gasped in shock and reacted instinctively, pushing him up off her body with all of her remaining strength before sending him flying backwards with a well-timed right hook.

"That was not, very, GENTLEMANLY," she heard herself shout as she sat up. Her legs were tingling more and more with every minute that passed, pins and needles spreading up her shins. 

Not long now, she thought.

She had literally no idea why she'd chosen the word 'gentlemanly' - although they had been studying Pride and Prejudice in her English class. But whatever the reason, it had a surprising effect on Spike. His human features returned, and he stumbled shakily to his feet. He rubbed his jaw with one hand, looking at her out of the corner of his eye, almost as if he was ashamed. 

"I'm a vampire, luv. We don't really do, 'gentlemanly'" said the surprisingly abashed slayer-of-slayers, quietly. 

She glared at him. "OK then, how about this. Attacking a woman who doesn't currently have the use of her legs isn't exactly sporting, is it? What happened to the mighty showdown you had in mind? The battle to end all battles? Spike vs. The Slayer: Episode III?"

"I jus' got a bit carried away, is all," grumbled Spike. 

"Yes, I can see that," said Buffy, arching an eyebrow and staring pointedly at the bulge in his too-tight black jeans. His earlier lustful swagger had faded and he just glared, looking slightly embarrassed again as he turned his back on her, giving her a really quite pleasant view of his tight ass and the firm muscles in his lower back.

What the hell was wrong with her at the moment? She'd been making googly eyes at Angel even more then usual, having those vivid dreams where she could feel his lips and smell his hair, not to mention noticing every guy that passed her in the hall...now this. Did she have, like, Slayer super hormones or something? She shouldn't be finding some hooligan of a vamp so....

Buffy groaned, despite herself. Spike was at her side in a flash, looking concerned and a touch guilty. 

"What is it?" he asked. He lifted the blanket off her, probing her bare stomach lightly with his soft hands to check her bandages were still in place. She caught his hand and looked up at him.

"Stop it," she said in a tight, breathless voice. He rocked back on his heels in surprise as he scented her arousal. Then he half closed his eyes, smiled, and continued his maddening, intoxicating hand movements.

"Are you sure you want me to stop, pet?" he murmured. 

Buffy gasped at the sensations in her lower body - and she didn't mean the pins and needles in her legs.

She couldn't quite understand how his earlier, overly horny, down-and-dirty demonic roughness had so quickly been replaced with these seductive caresses. There was clearly a Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde thing going on here (wow, she really had been paying attention in English class lately, she'd have to show off to Willow if she ever got out of this goddamn crypt).

Spike was perched just above her, carefully avoiding her injuries, instead allowing his hands to lightly scratch and stroke her sides. She was very aware of how little she was wearing, and how close he was to her prone body. 

He smelt good, she noticed though the fog of lust that had descended on her. Tobacco, whiskey and clean linen. Who the hell washes a vampire's clothes, she wondered for a moment. Do they take them to a laundrette? How do they explain the stains and, ahhhh.... suddenly his long, firm, cool fingers moved higher and brushed the bottom of her breasts, and rational thought went out of the window. 

As he lowered his face to hers to kiss her, she placed a hand on his chest, stopping him, and he sat up again, his head cocked and a look of slight confusion on his face, not to mention a touch of disappointment. He raised an eyebrow. 

"Are you tellin' me you really don't want this, Slayer?" he asked, his cockiness returning. "I mean, you can't hide it from me. Vampire senses, y'know." He licked his lips and looked pointedly at her crotch.

Buffy blushed again. Damn, why did her face - and the rest of her body - keep letting her down like this? 

"Spike, I....I'm not," she took a deep breath. "I haven't..." she rolled her eyes, embarrassed to her very core. She tried again, "I've never..."

"Ohhhhh," said Spike, then laughed wickedly. "This is too perfect. The fearsome Slayer of Sunnydale is a virgin! I never would have thought it."

"Hey!" said Buffy, suddenly stung. "What do you mean by that?"

"I saw you dancing in the Bronze, kitten. Swaying your hips, running your hands through your hair. You looked like you'd had a dozen cocks that night alone." 

He smirked and she surprised them both by slapping him across the face so hard he almost fell over. "Fuck, Slayer, that hurt!" said Spike, angrily. 

"Good!" she shouted at him, tears pricking her eyes. God, how the hell had this stupid blonde bloodsucker got her to the point she was even contemplating...urgh. 

She had to get out of here before she did something she'd regret for ever.


	6. Chapter 6

Spike looked down at Buffy, eyes narrowed in anger, a raised, bright-red, hand-shaped welt marking his pale cheek. 

"Talk about sending a fella mixed messages, luv," he hissed. "One minute your virgin pussy is dripping for me, the next you're smacking me in the face."

"Spike, you're a pig," Buffy spat. "I can't believe I was about to..."

Spike's face softened, and he raised his scarred brow, eyes glinting knowingly. "About to what?" A slight smile played across his lips.

"Nothing!" Buffy shouted, before throwing up her hands, defeatedly. "I don't know." 

She sighed, then started to fiddle with the unicorn quilt beneath her hands, purposefully avoiding his searching gaze. 

Buffy flexed her feet again, subtly, feeling them start to respond. 

"What, you're mad because I said you looked hot while you were dancing?" Spike frowned, clearly confused. For a second he looked like a surly teenage boy.

"You didn't say that! You said I looked...like a slut or something," Buffy replied.

Spike inched closer. "I don't think those were the exact words I used. I just like to see a girl enjoying herself, is all. You looked..."

"What?" she snapped, meeting his eyes with her own, glaring up at him.

"Sexy," he replied, simply, with an artless shrug.

Buffy blushed for what felt like the hundredth time since whenever she first entered this damn graveyard about a thousand years ago. She looked down at the stupid cutesy blanket again.

He lent forward and put his hand beneath her chin, tilting her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze. 

"OK, fine. You looked fucking beautiful," he said, his voice hoarse. He moved in for a kiss, and this time Buffy let his mouth collide with hers. She heard a strange moaning sound echo around the crypt, then realised it was actually coming from her.

Spike deepened the kiss, twining one hand into her hair to pull her closer until she felt as if she was going to pass out (again). His lips were soft and cool, and his tongue stroked her lips once, twice, three times - until she finally relented and opened her mouth, granting him access. 

Oh great. She was now passionately french kissing a vampire who had tried to kill her two days earlier. Go figure. 

She lay back and pulled him down without breaking the kiss. Now, it was his turn to moan with desire as he settled himself on top of her...only to leap up again when he heard the Slayer yelp in pain. 

"Buffy, are you...oh, yeah."

Her bloodied bandages were a stark reminder of her injuries. He pulled away from her.

"It's OK" she said, reaching out to him, her pupils huge and dark with desire. She was no longer worrying about being trapped in the crypt with him, about whether he was going to kill her, or even what Angel or her friends would think. Her senses were filled with Spike - he took up all the possible space in her mind. 

All she could think was how much she needed his lips on hers. Her legs finally jerked to life and she hooked them around his waist, pulling him towards her. Spike growled.

The vampire moved on top of her again, but this time he supported himself on his sinewy, strong arms. She mewed with desire and captured his lips with her own, nipping on his lower lip and worrying it with her teeth - a move she had never even considered until right that moment. 

Who was she? Had those demonic wounds come with a side order of sex-crazed Slayer? All she knew was that the lip-biting made him growl possessively, and she was definitely ok with that. 

Suddenly, he was gone. She reached out towards him and clutched empty air. "Spike?" She sat up and discovered him standing above her. He reached one hand down and pulled Buffy to her feet.

"What are you....?" before she could finish her sentence, he lifted her up and cupped his hands under her butt, holding her closely against him. 

She groaned and wriggled against his delightfully hard cock. "Yesssss," she moaned, wrapping her suddenly useful legs around his waist again. All thoughts of escaping had vanished into the lusty pink brain fog that was filling her head. 

Stepping forward, Spike put the Slayer down on the tomb that had been her sick bed, perching her ass on the very edge of the cold stone. 

Kneeling down, he ran his hand over her foot, grabbing the ankle boot she wore and easing it off before throwing it into the corner of the crypt. He did the same with the other one, then reached up to unbutton the fly of the tight red pants she was wearing. Then he surprised her by looking up at her, waiting for her consent. 

She looked down at him for a long minute, then gave an almost imperceptible nod. 

He reacted instantly, leaping into action, dragging them down and over her ass - she lifted herself up slightly to allow him to take them off, he jerked them roughly down her legs until she was left in just her torn camisole top and a pair of dainty red panties that were saturated with her pussy juice. 

Spike made a noise that was half growl, half gasp as he lowered his face to her cunt and breathed in her delicious scent, so ripe, musky and exhilarating. "Slayer," he groaned. 

He'd never been as hard as he was in that moment. He reached down, unbuttoned his jeans and took his cock in his hand, pumping it as he started to nuzzle his mortal enemy's pussy, pushing his nose against her satin-clad slit and making her gasp and pant. "Spike," she yelped, shrill with lust and need.

Spike reached up, put both hands on her slim hips and took hold of the sides of her lace panties before suddenly yanking them down. She cried out as the cold air hit her white-hot core, and he gasped with surprise and delight when he saw she was mostly shaven, apart from a tantalising strip of hair that ran down the middle of her mound.

It was so...American. Completely different from the full bushes he was used to. Dru hadn't shaved since the Franco-Prussian war, but Buffy's cunt was smooth, pink, ripe and sodden with her juices - and as he took in the glorious sight another bead of moisture formed right below her throbbing, swollen clit and slowly ran down to pool at her opening.

Spike moaned. He couldn't hold back - not for one more second. He ran his tongue along her inner thigh, then buried it in her untouched, slippery, tight, slick folds. 

Buffy cried out. The sensations were almost more than she could bear. He used the fingers of one hand to spread her apart and pressed the tip of his tongue against her clit, licking it softly, then moved down to lap at her dripping entrance. He was so hard it was almost painful. He fisted his cock again, moaning into the Slayer's pussy as he started to stroke himself even faster. 

Above him, Buffy squirmed and panted.

"Spike, oh god, oh god," she wailed. She had no idea it was possible to feel this way. Nothing she had ever done with her fingers had ever come close. She shamelessly humped his face, smearing his mouth, nose and cheeks with her juices as she inched ever closer to her release. He nuzzled her again, then moved lower, using his nose to rub her clit as his tongue probed at her tight entrance, sliding inside.

Buffy cried out at the unexpected invasion, but almost as soon as he'd begun to tongue fuck her he withdrew. She barely had a second to mourn the loss before one of his long, cool fingers started to circle her opening while, at the same time, his clever tongue redoubled its efforts and started licking her clit with long, smooth, fast strokes. "Fuck, Spike," she gasped. 

"That's the idea, pet," he murmured, his mouth full of her wet pussy. He started to slowly, gently slide his finger inside her, kissing and sucking her clit at the same time to distract her from the sensation of being stretched and invaded. 

"Oh Buffy, fuck, you're so tight," he moaned, and another gush of wetness immediately flowed from her, coating his hand. 

"Mmm, yes, you like that?" He added a second finger and gradually inched it into her, using his tongue to help it along the way. She yelped and moaned and begged him not to stop, not to ever stop. 

Buffy rubbed her cunt against his gorgeous face, humping his lips, grinding herself onto his long, hard fingers, "oh fuck, oh fuck, oh god, Spike, I'm...." she started to scream and convulse, and his mouth flooded with her sweet nectar. 

He stilled his fingers but kept licking her pussy until she fell back on the stone tomb with a sigh, limp and satiated. 

Buffy chuckled - a low, disbelieving laugh that shook her rib cage. She raised her head and took in the wanton sight of him - his eyes bright, his face smeared with her juices, his hair a mess. She smiled, her eyes tired and half-closed. "I think I just lost the use of my legs again." 

Then the events of the last day caught up with her, exhaustion hitting her like a train. Darkness engulfed her and she passed out for a third time, and when she woke up, he really was gone.

\----

Spike stalked through a nearby park in the pre-dawn gloom, his fists clenched.

After the Slayer passed out, he'd wrestled with an almost uncontrollable urge to bury his cock in the unconscious girl, tearing her open in the process. He was hard enough to cut diamond and desperate to take her, but whenever he moved in her direction her voice had echoed in her head, saying that wouldn't be "gentlemanly." 

How long had it been since he cared about etiquette - especially where sex was concerned? He was a master vampire, a warrior. It was as if the effete milksop he'd been before he was turned had somehow taken hold of his reins, stopping him from surging forward, entering her tight, wet hole and bathing in her virgin blood.

He raged and punched a nearby tree, snapping his fangs like an angry dog. Maybe it was some kind of witchcraft? Or maybe the hellmouth itself was playing games with his mind. He lifted his fingers to his nose and breathed in her scent, making his aching cock twitch even harder, then roared in frustration.

He really needed to kill something. That would make him feel much better.


	7. Chapter 7

Buffy made her way home, stiff and sore after her ordeal with the demon - not to mention the workout she'd gotten from Spike. She had no idea what time it was, or what day, only that the sun was out and it was high in the sky. 

She should really buy a watch, she thought.

Her mom had left on a two-day buying trip on the same day she'd headed out to patrol (and got her ass handed to her by that damn demon), so she was hoping against hope she hadn't been gone longer than that. She had no idea how she'd explain her still-healing stomach gashes - or the fact they'd clearly been tended to by someone with at least a tiny bit of medical expertise.

She couldn't quite believe what had happened the night before - it seemed almost impossible in the bright light of day. Had she really got down and dirty with a vampire? 

She should feel super icky and exceptionally wigged, but she didn't. In fact, she kept smiling to herself as she remembered the way he'd crouched between her legs, looking up at her almost...worshipfully? Could vampires ever...urgh, she shouldn't go down that road. Too complicated. But he had looked at her in a way she'd never been looked at before, even by Angel.

Oh God, Angel. She'd actually forgotten all about him. What the hell would he think if he knew she'd been getting earth-shattering, mind-bending orgasms from Spike? 

She inwardly cringed, even though she knew she didn't exactly owe him anything. It wasn't like she'd ever been on a date with Angel, they just waltzed around each other like a pair of planets caught up in a gravity well, unable to occupy the same orbit in case they collide and explode. He treated her like a little girl at times, pushing her away, playing with her emotions, appearing and disappearing at the weirdest times. Also, wasn't he supposed to protect her? Where was he when a spiny hedgehog demon was making Slayer entrail teppanyaki?

She was a free agent, and apparently that now meant 'free to let a demented killer eat her pussy until she came like a steam train, saw stars and then passed out'.

Buffy smiled, again, as she remembered the heavenly feeling of his firm, cool tongue lapping her throbbing clit. No, that was bad. Don't think about that. Bad Buffy.

She was...experimenting. That's all. It's perfectly normal to experiment when you're young, it doesn't mean anything, she thought, her inner voice sounding way more sure of that than she felt.

She turned the corner and started to walk towards her house, limping slightly, then paused for a moment when she saw Giles' car parked outside.

"Oh boy," she thought. Things were about to get.....complicated. 

She took a deep breath for a moment, then opened the door and stepped inside her house, silently cursing herself for giving Giles a spare key. 

A horde of people suddenly surrounded her. 

"Buffy," they shouted, almost in unison. Willow moved to hug her, but Buffy flinched away, indicating her blood stained midriff. "Not so much with the hugs just now, Will, please."

She'd wrapped her tan leather coat around herself on the way home - all the better to avoid awkward questions from passers-by like "oh my god do you need to go to the hospital" - but had let it fall open when she entered the house. 

Willow looked horrified, as did Xander, Giles and...oh no...Angel. 

"Buffy", he said, moving towards her and running his hands down her arm. She stepped backwards, moving quickly and lightly out of his grasp. 

"Hey Angel," she said, with a bright smile. He frowned and moved away from her, looking troubled and - something else she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Guys, I'm fine, honestly. It's just a scratch." She furrowed her brow. "Well, four scratches, actually." 

"Buffy, what happened?" said Giles, his voice hoarse and concerned. "We've been out of our minds with worry. You've been gone for more than a day."

So her mom wouldn't be back until this evening, Buffy thought. Good. She needed some time to process what had happened.

"It's no biggie, guys. I went toe to toe with a really sharp demon - he was seriously spik...er....pointy. He got lucky and cut me up a bit, but died anyway. I went to sleep in a crypt and - er - didn't wake up until this morning. Guess it was my Slayer healing doing its thing. I feel kind of out of it but OK. Sorry you were so worried though, I hope you don't get in trouble for cutting class."

Angel frowned, and she moved away from him again. Waltzed away.

"Buff, who...how did you end up getting stitches?" asked Xander. He was staring at her midriff, which she'd forgotten was pretty much bare thanks to the demon's initial clothes-removal slash. Plus she'd discarded the gross bandages before leaving the crypt, leaving only the sticky butterfly closure strips Spike had used to seal her haemorrhaging wounds.

"These? Oh, um...." oh great, her mind had gone blank. Thanks so much, mind, she thought. She wished everyone would just leave her alone. 

"Did someone help you?" asked Willow tentatively. 

Buffy grimaced. "Yeah, kinda," she said, looking at the floor. 

"Who, Buff? Who was it?" Xander asked. 

Angel hadn't said anything since his initial greeting. He was standing behind her, and she could almost feel his eyes burning into the back of her neck. 

"A guy found me. I was bleeding pretty badly. He ran to the drug store and got some supplies, helped patch me up. He left, I slept, and here I am - all better. Better Buffy. Nothing for anyone to worry about. I'll be right as rain by tomorrow. Peachy." She moved to go upstairs, longing for a shower and some damn peace and quiet. 

Why did her friends and Watcher have to be so...caring?

"Did anything else happen with this guy?" asked Angel in a low, dull tone from behind her. She span around, her eyes narrowing.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" she retorted, her tone of voice clearly saying 'watch it, mister.' 

"Did he...try anything?" said the dark-haired vampire. He looked outwardly concerned, but Buffy could see the spark of jealousy in his eyes - almost hidden (unless you knew where to look). 

"No, Angel," she said - pointedly. "He was a perfect gentleman."

With that, she span around and continued up the stairs like an angry politician leaving a press conference. There would be no further questions at this time. 

\----

As the sky lightened, Spike had retreated back to the factory. He hadn't managed to find someone to kill on the way there, more's the pity. He was so pent up, so frustrated, he felt as if he might burst. But the sun was rising; he needed to go to ground. Being on fire just wasn't a good look for him. 

He crept towards the bed, shucking his duster as he went and pulling his T-shirt over his head. He was still hard, somehow. He needed to at least try and find some release. 

Dru was sleeping naked, her long, dark hair curling down her bare back. She was facing away from him and her smooth skin gleamed in the dim light. Spike grinned wolfishly, then slid off his jeans and slipped between the sheets. 

"Dru, baby," he purred, reaching out to her, running his hands across her shoulders before pulling her towards him. He moved to spoon her, pressing his erection against her soft arse. She might be vicious, unpredictable and several sandwiches short of a picnic, but damn it if she didn't have a rockin' bod.

Drusilla turned over slowly, her eyes lidded and not a little suspicious. "Spike? Where have you been, you naughty boy?"

She pushed her face close to his and took a deep, lingering sniff. 

"You're covered in cream, Spike," she snapped. "Have you been a naughty kitty? Were you playing with your food again? You know Miss Edith doesn't like that. You're supposed to share, you know."

Dru pouted and sat up. 

"Dru, hey, Drusilla," said Spike, placatingly. "It was nothing, love. Just had a bite to eat on the way home, is all. Some chit of a girl, nothing to her. Not worth your time, I promise."

The lie tripped easily and smoothly from his lips, but he knew Drusilla had other ways of ferreting out the truth. He just had to hope she was too sleep-addled to put two and two together. 

"But Spike liked the taste," said Drusilla. "I can tell." She reached down to take hold of his hard cock, pumping it in her cold hand. Spike threw his head back and sighed. 

"Only a little bit, my sweet. I was thinking of you the whole time. Anyway, humans don't count, you know that."

That did not go down as well as he'd hoped, and she squeezed him painfully, making him yelp. 

"Dru! For fuck's sake love, be careful. I'm not a bloody toy."

"No, you're not," said Drusilla. "Which is why I don't want to play with you. You're a bad, dirty boy, Spike." She glared at him and then rolled over again. 

Spike huffed angrily. Great, Dru wasn't going to help him with his problem. He'd just have to take it into his own hands.

He reached under the covers, not caring if Drusilla felt the bed move, and started to stroke himself, moaning softly as he remembered the sweet taste of the Slayer's soaking wet, virgin pussy. 

\----

After the fifteenth time she'd told them she was OK, yes, definitely OK, no she didn't need anything, no, she was fine, thank you - the Scoobies had finally, reluctantly agreed to leave and let her rest. 

Angel hadn't been able to go with them, of course. Because it was the middle of the damn morning. 

A few days ago the idea of having him all to herself in her empty house would have made her knees weak. Now she just felt - what, exactly? Irritated? That wasn't it. Her feelings were so complicated right now, she couldn't put a name to them, but 'confused, exhausted and horny' was probably the closest she was going to get.

Buffy had gone upstairs to shower while Angel skulked in the basement, hiding from the bright California sun. She could have pulled her blinds and let him rest in her room, but she was still pretty angry about his pointed line of questioning earlier. What had he expected her to say in front of her friends, exactly? 

"Actually Angel, yes, the man did try something. He perched me on the edge of a cold stone tomb and fucked me with his tongue, then his fingers, until I was a quivering wreck who could barely remember my own name. Also he wasn't a man, he was a 120 year old blonde vampire."

She wrapped a towel around her lean body, then walked to her room, sat down at her vanity and started to brush the tangles out of her wet hair. 

Why didn't she feel weirder about what had happened? She should feel ashamed, guilty...disgusted, even. But she didn't feel any of those things, not really. She felt kinda dirty, but in a good way. The thrill of battle always gave her an itch that she regularly struggled to scratch - although she had tried her best in the past with her fingers, stroking her clit under the covers and pinching her nipples until she was finally rewarded with a sharp, quick orgasm. 

The things Spike had done to her last night, though...well that was like comparing a $500,000 sports car with the heap of crap her Watcher drove. Spike had opened a whole, new world of possibilities in one fell swoop. And she wasn't sure she wanted to close that particular Pandora's Box again, even though the creature inside it was - for all intents and purposes - evil incarnate. She sighed, remembering the beautiful blonde-haired Satan who had knelt oh-so-prettily at her feet before taking her to heaven with his mouth.

Staring at her reflection, she put her hairbrush down, then opened her towel and let it pool around her butt. Without breaking her gaze, she let her legs fall open, wanting to see herself the way Spike had seen her the night before. She had forgotten that she'd shaved for swim club the day before she'd patrolled, scything off her pubic hair in case a stray curl tried to embarrass her by sneaking out of the side of her bathing suit. Buffy wondered what he'd thought when he saw her lewd, smooth pussy lips. She groaned, and threw her head back, her fingers inching down her body to caress her satin-soft mound...

She was rudely interrupted by a knock on her bedroom door. 

"Buffy, can we talk?" said Angel. "Is it OK if I come in?"

Fuck, thought Buffy, quickly gathering up her towel again, blushing furiously.

"Not really," she called back.


	8. Chapter 8

Angel knocked again, more insistently. "Come on, Buffy. Let me in. You know full well we need to talk."

"Angel, this really isn't a good time," said Buffy. "And anyway, you're supposed to be hiding in the basement in case my mom comes home. I'm not sure how she'd feel about me having random older guys in my room in the middle of a school day. Wait, actually - I tell a lie. I am sure how she'd feel, and I'd rather not be grounded until 2040, if that's OK with you?"

She heard Angel cough in embarrassment and fall silent. For a second she thought he actually had gone away and left her alone. But then he spoke again, his voice lower.

"Buffy, I can tell that something else happened while you were missing. Something that didn't involve demons."

Just goes to show how much you know, thought Buffy. 

"Angel," she started to reply, not even sure what she would end up saying, but needing to shut this line of conversation down immediately. She was so not ready to tell Mr Broody-Stalker about her oral sexathon in the crypt last night.

He interrupted her immediately. 

"Look, I know something...sexual...happened Buffy. I could tell. Please, let me come in," his tone was plaintive now. "I'm worried about you."

She sighed, then wrapped the towel more tightly around herself. "Fine," she replied, her voice flat and unexpressive.

Angel turned the handle and entered her room, then froze when he saw she wasn't dressed. He turned away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. It was the same gesture that she'd seen Spike make a couple of times last night, and for the first time she wondered if there was some kind of connection between them. 

"I'm sorry, Buffy, you should have said..." 

"I did try to, Angel. Look, it's fine. I'm wearing a towel, I'm pretty sure it covers more of me than a lot of the outfits you've probably seen me in when you've been lurking in various bushes, following my every move. Or hanging out in my room watching me sleep."

"Buffy," said Angel reproachfully, turning round to look at her.

What had gotten into her? She wondered. Was she trying to tease him? Something weird was definitely going on. Angel cleared his throat again, and continued.

"Look, I just wanted to say, if something bad happened to you, if you were attacked - you can talk to me about it. I'm here for you, I can help..."

"Angel," Buffy's tone was clipped, but kind. "I'm fine, I promise."

"But if you were forced..."

"No one forced me to do anything," she said, quietly, then she took a deep, shaky breath. She needed to draw a line under this unbearably awkward conversation. He opened his mouth to speak again, and she lifted her hand, shushing him with one finger like a teacher bringing an unruly pupil in line. 

"He didn't do anything to me that I didn't want him to do."

Angel looked up at her when she said that, meeting her gaze for the first time since he came into her room. His eyes flared amber in shock, before narrowing in a mixture of horror and dismay. Then an aftershock of realisation hit him and he just glared at her, his face flickering like a 1920s movie as disgust, disappointment and anger took turns controlling his expression.

There was one word for that particular cocktail of emotions. Oh yes, definitely jealousy, thought Buffy. Called it. 

His green (well, yellow) eyed monster was laid bare now that his hammed-up concern she'd been assaulted wasn't there to act as a buffer. He was clearly incandescently furious. She thought he'd been mad when he'd confronted her for sexy-dancing with Xander after she got back from LA, but this was next-level. For a second she felt almost scared. 

"Who was he?" Angel said, his tone low, bitter and sullen.

"A good samaritan," Buffy replied. "Is that enough of the third degree? Because if you don't mind, I really need to get dressed now."

She span round and turned her back to him, looking into the mirror. She picked up her brush and started to run it through her long, wet, dark blonde hair. He was still there behind her, but she couldn't see his reflection. It wigged her out more than she was expecting, not least because she could still sense his outrage and betrayal. He might have a soul - but at the end of the day he was still a vampire, and she had her back to him. She took deep, calming breaths, feigning nonchalance, silently pleading with him to leave. 

Eventually, her door banged shut and her senses stopped tingling. She was alone. Buffy dropped her arms to her sides in relief, then buried her head in her hands. 

A week ago, Angel in her room when her mom was gone - him smouldering and intense, her in just a towel - would have been probably the hottest thing that had ever happened to her. 

A lot could change in a week.

\----

Spike paced around the factory, waiting for the early evening light to fade. He hadn't been able to sleep, even after he'd made himself come three times in a row thinking of the wanton way Buffy had looked down at him when he'd had his face buried in her sweet, soaking quim.

He needed to go out on the prowl, find himself a selection of pretty necks to pierce with his fangs. Yes, that should do the trick. He needed to hunt, to kill - to remind himself he was William the Bloody, one-time scourge of Europe. Hammerer of railroad spikes through skulls - which is trickier than it sounds.

He was a cold-hearted demon warrior, not a damn nurse. He should never have patched up the Slayer. He'd spent so long taking care of Dru that tending to the wounded girl had clearly confused him, brought out some pathetic side of his personality that he'd assumed was long dead. 

Well, if it wasn't dead, it soon would be. And so would a lot of other people. Tonight, he decided, he would go on a glorious rampage, tearing a savage swathe through this stupid town, slashing, ripping and biting, bathing in the blood of the fallen and leaving piles of corpses in his wake. 

After he'd swung by to check on the Slayer, of course. It would be a shame if she ended up dying of some kind of secondary infection before he could kill her himself, that demon had looked pretty gross and he probably hadn't done enough to clean her wounds. Maybe he should break into a hospital, take some more supplies round? Antibiotics would be a good shout...

He groaned and put his head in his hands. "What the fuck is going on?" he whispered to himself.

\----

The sun had dipped below the horizon and Buffy was just putting the finishing touches to her hair and makeup when she heard her mom's key turn in the door. She offered up a silent prayer to any gods, powers that be or higher entities that might be listening, hoping against hope that Angel had made himself scarce. 

"Buffy?" Joyce called up the stairs. "Are you there?"

"Hey mom!" Buffy shouted. She pulled a short red leather jacket over her skin-tight, low-cut shirt, slid into a pair of killer knee-high black boots, threw open her bedroom door and bounced merrily down the stairs before enveloping her mom in a bear hug. Her wounds were mostly healed, by now, but a sudden stab of pain still caught her by surprise and she winced.

"Honey?" said Joyce. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Buffy shook her head, "no, I'm fine. Just..." her mind span through possible excuses...."er, my time of the month is all."

"Oh, sweetheart," said her mom. "Do you need anything? Let me make you some tea."

Joyce tried to move towards the kitchen but she couldn't: Buffy was clinging to her, suddenly overwhelmed with love for her kind, patient mother. Despite the fact she had just driven a billion miles, she still wanted to fuss over her daughter, make her tea and then put her to bed with an Advil and a hot water bottle. She didn't deserve her.

"I'm OK mom, I promise. You've had a crazy hectic couple of days, you should get some takeout and just veg on the sofa. I said I'd meet Will and Xander for a study date, anyway," Buffy smiled at her, but her smile faded when she saw the look of disappointment on her mom's face.

"I thought we could hang out together tonight? Maybe watch a movie? It's only 5pm." Buffy winced - this time the pain was due to guilt, rather than the cuts on her stomach. 

She'd thought that her mom might suggest a girls' night in, but Buffy felt hot, restless and trapped. She felt as if she would burst if she didn't go out patrolling. She refused to let herself even acknowledge the baser reason she was keen to go out - i.e. she hoped she might bump into a certain bad boy vampire with terrible taste in blankets and a magical tongue that seemed to have a life of its own.

"I'm sorry mom," said Buffy, looking distressed, her tone so genuine that Joyce immediately relented. 

"Oh it's fine honey. I'm absolutely exhausted anyway, if we watched a movie I'd fall asleep about ten minutes in. Just go, have fun with your friends. I'll probably be sleeping by the time you get home though, so try to be quiet? And don't be home too late!"

"Don't worry, I promise not to pull a Cinderella. I'll be home before my coach turns back into a pumpkin," said Buffy. She gave her mom another squeeze and a kiss on the cheek before flouncing out of the door, closing it with a crash that made the house shake on its foundations.

Joyce sighed. Just what in the heck was she going to do with that wayward, weirdly strong, prematurely grown up daughter of hers?

\-----

As soon as she was out of sight of the house, Buffy broke into a fast walk, her restless energy dragging her in the direction of the various alleys and lanes that surrounded the Bronze, itching for a fight. The area was always lousy with vamps on a Friday night.

Angel followed her - keeping to the shadows and moving silently. As soon as the sun had set he'd moved from hiding in her basement to hiding in the garden, waiting for her to leave the house and head out on patrol. At least, that's what he assumed she was doing. She'd heard the tale she spun her mother about meeting up with her friends, but something told him that wasn't really on her to-do list for the evening.

He wondered who was.


	9. Chapter 9

Spike was hungry. Really hungry. He needed to eat something but the only option at the factory had been the mostly-drained body of an unfortunate pizza delivery guy he'd ordered for Dru. He contemplated the pizza itself for a moment, but it was two days old and looked even less appealing than the teen boy who had delivered it. 

His hunger was a painful, clawing urge inside his chest. He ditched his earlier weird impulse to go straight to the Slayer's house (with antibiotics? Seriously, what the actual hell?) and instead wove his way towards the brightly-lit centre of Sunnydale. 

Man, these Americans loved to waste electricity. Well, all the better to see him with, thought Spike, relishing the interested and often admiring looks he got from young women - and at least one young man - who he passed in late-night stores and outside coffee shops. 

He responded by cocking an eyebrow at the prettier ones, and if he got a reaction he'd pass them with an extra little swagger and a wicked smile, making them giggle, whisper and blush. 

Unfortunately, they weren't much use to him as they were all with other people. Getting them alone would be...difficult. If he'd been less snackish he might have played the long game, joined a couple of girls at their table, bought them some drinks, charmed one away from her friend and then....

Spike shook his head. Way too much work. He needed a lonely, friendless, nerdy.... oh hello.

He spotted a primly dressed redhead walking quickly away from him. She looked like she'd come from the direction of the magic shop at the end of the road, and seemed vaguely familiar - although he wasn't entirely sure why. 

He fell into step behind her, keeping a safe distance between them. She turned right along a less-busy street - almost an alleyway, really, and he smiled. Bingo, he thought. Right, Red, let's see what you taste like. 

Spike waited a moment and then followed the girl into the wide but deserted back lane. She was walking more briskly now and he saw she was heading towards that weird nightclub for underage teens that all the young people around here seemed obsessed with.

He frowned and sped up, needing to reach her before she got to the door. Spike spotted a nearby ladder and swung himself up it with catlike speed, then made his way quickly along the flat rooftops before dropping down right in front of his startled quarry. The redhead gasped in shock and dropped the bag she was carrying before slowly starting to back away. 

Spike reached down to pick it up. "I think this is yours, luv," he said with an evil leer. "Don't you want it?"

At first, Willow couldn't form words. Her mouth opened and closed in breathless shock, like a just-landed carp, before finally squeaking: "it's you! You're him, oh god." 

She turned to run but Spike's hand shot out, lightning fast, and grabbed her arm. She shrieked as he drew her to him, but fell silent as his cold, pale hand clamped down over her mouth.

"Shh, pet. It'll be alright. I'll make it quick. Mainly because I'm very hungry, but - I don't know - I guess I'm feeling particularly kind today."

He flexed his neck before quickly twisting into his game face with a chilling, low snarl.

"No," said Willow, "please..." He felt her tremble against him. Ah, how he loved this part. He brushed the girl's long hair away from her pretty neck; almost as pale as his.

"Hush now, this won't hurt...much," he pressed his fangs against her skin and let his tongue dart out to touch her neck. He was getting hard again from the anticipation of a kill: even though this timid virgin wasn't exactly his type. Nothing like Buffy...

Spike frowned and pulled back slightly, not sure he wanted the Slayer invading his head at a time like this. A rush of unfamiliar feelings surged through him and he loosened his grip on Willow, who used the moment of hesitation to elbow him in the stomach, hard, and struggle out of his grasp.

She screamed loudly enough to wake the dead, managing to cry out "help me!" at the very top of her lungs before she was tackled by a furious vampire intent on silencing her once and for all.

\----

Buffy was a couple of blocks away from the Bronze when she heard a girl cry out at the top of her voice. 

"Willow!" she shouted, before taking off at a dizzyingly fast sprint towards the source of the noise. 

Several yards behind her, Angel swore and started to speed up too, but felt the need to stay hidden despite the commotion. 

Usually he'd reveal himself to Buffy in this sort of situation and help her fight whatever vamp or demon was causing her trouble, but he wasn't that keen to get involved this time around.

If Buffy didn't want him, did she really deserve him fighting by her side? It was a selfish and base thought, the kind of thing that he'd usually drive from his mind straight away. But the memory of her half naked, so close to him - admitting to him she'd been with another man - made him sick. 

Buffy found a fire escape and hurled herself to the top of a nearby building. She ran across the rooftops, leaping across a narrow gap onto a slightly lower ledge; dropping and rolling as she impacted the ground. She leapt up again and continued her mad dash, dodging heating vents, skylights and other hazards before drawing her stake and hurling herself down into the alleyway towards the source of the sound.

She landed in a crouch right in front of Spike and Willow, with only the merest hint of a wince as the impact jolted her still-healing body.

Spike was vamped out and a hair's breadth away from piercing Will's throat with his fangs, but the pair were frozen in place like a tableau. Spike was clutching the redhead tightly to him with one hand over her mouth. Willow's eyes were wide with fear; tears ran down her cheeks. Buffy stood up slowly, the stake clasped in her right hand, her left curling into a fist, eyes flashing with fury and menace. Spike knew he was facing the embodiment of sharp, pointy, sudden death. And had never seen anything more beautiful. 

"Let her go, Spike," said Buffy in a low and incredibly threatening tone. "Now." She raised the stake in one hand.

Spike weighed up his options for a moment, then realised he really didn't have any. 

Rolling his eyes, the vampire pushed Willow away roughly. She stumbled and then ran to stand behind the Slayer.

"Fine," Spike snarled. "She wasn't the one I wanted anyway." His face shifted back into its human form and he smirked, then reached down to adjust his black jeans in a lewd display that was clearly designed to show both girls the outline of his (impressive) erection.

"Spike, you're disgusting," said Buffy, rolling her eyes.

"That's not what you said last night, luv," replied the vampire with the most suggestive eyebrow wiggle Buffy had ever seen. She cringed. 

"Buffy?" said Willow. "What does he mean?"

"Nothing, Will. It's nothing. Just ignore him," Buffy's gaze hardened and she hefted the stake in her hand again. She needed to draw a line under this. And that line was Spike's very timely death.

"Wait, you two know each other?" asked Spike incredulously, looking from one of them to the other. "Wow, I guess this really is a small town."

"She's my best friend," said Buffy tersely, her mouth a tight line. "And no one messes with her - ever."

Spike raised his hands in mock apology, walking backwards. 

"Hey, how was I meant to know? Maybe you should tell your friends not to walk down dark alleyways alone at night when they live on a nexus of demonic activity. Jus' a thought."

He kept edging backwards, so Buffy took a step forward, hoisting the stake. "Come on, Spike, you're not running away, are you? I thought you wanted some mighty, going-down-in-the-history-books showdown? I'm right here, what are you waiting for?" Then, under her breath, she hissed at Willow. "Run, Will. Get out of here."

For a second Willow looked torn, but then fear got the better of her and she dashed towards the Bronze, hurling herself at the door and falling inside. 

Buffy and Spike were left alone - or so they thought. Spike just stood there silently, making no move to attack her. His smile and swagger were gone, and he just stared at her, eyes radiant and intense.

"Come on, Spike," said Buffy, teasingly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I thought you were meant to...."

He interrupted her in a sober, straightforward tone.

"How are you?"

Buffy frowned, her face twisted into a comical 'huh?' expression. She just shook her head in confusion.

"How are you?" Spike repeated. "How's your..." he inclined his head to indicate Buffy's midriff. Buffy's expression clouded, her frown deepened and she was momentarily caught off guard. She lowered the stake slightly.

"Sorry, you just tried to eat my friend and now you're asking after my health? What's the deal, Spike?"

He huffed out a frustrated sigh and plunged his hands deep into his pockets before looking at his feet. She half expected him to distractedly kick a stone across the alleyway. He looked like a naughty little boy who was being told off by his mother. 

"I didn't know she was your friend, Slayer," he said, sounding slightly sulky.

Buffy lowered the stake to her waist. "How is that important? You were going to EAT HER, Spike. Whether I know her or not is kind of irrelevant."

"Well, I just...after last night. It wouldn't really seem right to eat one of your pals, you know?" He rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze. Buffy looked at him incredulously.

"Sorry is that some kind of weird vampire moral code?" said Buffy, taking a step towards him. "If you go down on a girl then, out of politeness, you don't kill and devour her friends? But everyone else in Sunnydale is still fair game?"

Spike jumped at that, his eyes wide, his mouth parting in shock at how direct she'd just been. Above him, he thought he heard a strange noise: a shift in the air, or possibly an intake of breath. 

"Um," for once, the usually motormouthed vampire was completely lost for words. He cleared his throat. "Well, if you must know, I haven't eaten anyone since..."

Buffy tilted her head, frowning again as he fell silent.

"Er...well since you," he said, with a bashful expression that just screamed 'if I could blush I'd be bright red right now'. 

Buffy had no such issues with blushing, and her cheeks flushed. She didn't really know where to look. All thoughts of a fight had gone completely out of the window.

"So, as you can imagine I'm a mite peckish, pet. And a guy's gotta eat. And - you may not be aware of this - but vampires consume blood. Hence the scene you just walked in on."

"I can't let you feed, Spike." Said Buffy quietly. Something in the very lowest, furthest, most hard-to-reach depths of her being was protesting at the idea of dusting this particular vampire. But letting him go, now, so he could go off and kill some innocent girl or dumb teen boy? She couldn't do it - if she'd arrived in the alley a minute later, Willow would be dead.

She lifted up the stake again and Spike raised his hands like a criminal being confronted by a cop.

"Buffy, look..." he sighed. "The thing is, your friend should have already been dead by the time you got here." Buffy's expression darkened at that, "Spike, you..." he stopped her before the inevitable "bastard" followed.

"I hesitated," he said, simply. "Truth be told, something got inside my head."

You, he thought. It's something to do with you. But he didn't fill her in on that particular detail.

Buffy narrowed her eyes again, then started to toss the stake from one hand to the other. "Go on," she said.

Spike paced in a tight circle. "I was all ready, you know. Fangs out, neck in position, frightened, innocent young woman swooning in my arms. I didn't know she was your friend, but...I..." lost for words again, he just shrugged.

"So what, you're teetotal now, is that what you're saying? I should let you go because you're a fine, upstanding citizen who wouldn't hurt a fly? I don't think so, Spike. I might be about 100 years younger than you but I wasn't born yesterday."

The vampire looked agitated, and started to pace in earnest, running his pale hands through his hair, mussing it. No one had come out the Bronze since Will had dashed in, Buffy assumed she was keeping the hormonal teens inside until the danger had passed. She really needed to kill him so that everyone could just get on with their lives: not least her.

"Spike, look I need to end this. We need to..."

The vampire suddenly wheeled round and closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, pulling aside his leather duster and pushing his chest against her stake until the sharp wood tore a hole in his tight black t-shirt. His head was millimetres from her own, his blazing, cornflower-blue eyes locked on hers. 

"Go on, do it then, stake me," he growled. He put his hands on Buffy's shoulders and leaned forward, increasing the pressure. The stake was right over his heart. A thin stream of blood emerged and started to snake down his chest. Buffy couldn't breathe. She was frozen, unable to move, his lips hovering just above hers. Instead of fear, all she felt was a thud of warmth in her belly, which gradually moved further down, delicious heat coiling and winding its way into her core. She had to fight not to moan out loud.

I have to do it, she thought. He's a vampire. I am a Slayer. This is literally my job. Her hand twitched slightly, but then fell still. 

"Yeah, I didn't think you'd be able to," said Spike, pulling back from her and wrapping his coat back around himself. "Go figure." 

Spike turned to leave, but after just one stride he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. 

"It was you, Slayer, in case you were wondering. You got into my bloody head." 

Then he was gone, striding away into the night. She stood silently, watching him leave. Letting him go.

Above her, Angel clenched and unclenched his fists. Rage suffused him, he hadn't felt like this since her regained his soul. His jaw twitched as he tried to fight to urge to vamp out - and lost.

He watched Buffy walk towards the Bronze through narrowed, nicotine-yellow eyes, and growled.


	10. Chapter 10

Buffy walked up to the Bronze and tried the door. It wouldn't budge, so she just kicked it open, scattering a group of eighteen-year-old, tousled-haired jock types who had been working together to hold it closed against the fictional biker army Willow had invented to stop them going outside. 

"It's fine," Buffy announced to the young men - who were clearly trying their best to look confident and tough. "They're gone. You're safe now. You can go home."

There was a collective sigh of relief and the Bronze started to empty, but as the alarmed teenagers poured out into the night Buffy called out a warning to them, telling them to go right, not left. "The bikers went left," she lied. 

She didn't want that walking buffet to head in the same direction that Spike had sloped off in. She sighed. What the hell was she going to do about the weirdly mesmerising, complicated, handso....

Nope. Nope. No. Stop it. No more unhelpful thoughts about Spike. Not right now, anyway. 

Taking a deep, calming breath, the Slayer turned from the door and went in search of her friend, wondering how much of the incredibly suggestive exchange with the horny and deeply indiscreet vampire Will had picked up on.

"Buffy!" Willow shouted, waving and calling her name before pushing through the bunched up crowds who were waiting, three abreast, to pour out of the club entrance. 

Jeez, this place really is a death trap, thought Buffy. Fire safety, much?

"Hey Will," she replied, enveloping her friend in a comforting hug. Willow crumpled against her, burying her face in her shoulder.

"Oh Buffy, I'm so sorry I ran away."

Buffy gently pulled back from Willow's tearful embrace, holding onto her shoulders and looking at her with eyes full of concern. "I told you to, Will. It's what I wanted. I'm glad you did, ok?"

Willow nodded, then looked at her searchingly. 

"Are you ok? Did he hurt you?" said Willow in a half-whisper. Buffy couldn't meet her gaze, instead she bit her lip and looked at a spot just above her friend's right ear.

"No, no I'm totally fine..." she said, but hesitated, letting her sentence trail off, leaving unspoken words hanging in the air. 

Willow remembered what Spike had said in the alleyway and dragged her unprotesting best friend over to a sofa in a quiet corner. They sat down. Buffy was slightly flushed and kept turning her stake over and over in her hands. 

Willow adopted a mock-stern expression. "OK, spill, missy. What the heck is going on? What did Spike mean when he mentioned last night? Were you with him? Is he the one who hurt you?"

Buffy cringed under the sudden onslaught of questions. 

"Hey, one thing at a time please, Will. I've had a long day."

Buffy took a deep breath, screwing her face up in a 'I can't believe I'm actually in this situation' grimace, then said: "No, Spike wasn't the one who hurt me. It really was that ugly porcupine demon thing with the long claws, it fricasseed my midriff and - honestly - I thought I was done for." 

She paused, then shrugged. "Spike...saved me from it."

Willow gaped, "what? Why would he do that? I thought he was the big bad? Slayer of slayers? Ancient, fierce, 'ooh watch out for Spike, Buffy, he's the worst.' All that jazz?"

In case Buffy hadn't quite grasped her meaning, Willow underlined it by twisting her hands into claws and saying "grrr, arrgh."

"Yes, I get it Will. Thanks," replied Buffy with a half-smile. "Honestly, I think Spike was planning to...save me for later. Like, he didn't want the demon to kill me because he wants to add another Slayer to his kill total. I guess they have a sort of vampire points system: kill three Slayers, win a toaster oven or something." 

Now it was Willow's turn to smile.

"But saving me was more complicated than that," Buffy continued. "It wasn't enough to just kill the demon, I was really hurt, bleeding out - I was too far gone to even get to a hospital."

"Oh my God, Buffy," said Willow, putting one hand over her mouth and the other on her friend's arm, her face a cartoonish picture of dismay. 

Buffy smiled, "I'm ok now Will, but if I'd died that would have meant that Mr Pointy Demon had won the fight, so Spike went to a drug store and patched me up. I guess he really, really wants to be the one to kill me."

"That's...kind of weird," said Willow. 

"Uh huh, yeah just a bit," Buffy replied. Then she fell silent and appeared to be weighing something up in her mind. She looked a bit evasive, glanced at Willow out of the corner of her eye, and said: "It gets weirder."

Willow raised an eyebrow. Buffy took a deep breath and continued, "after that, I'm pretty sure a gang of vamps showed up to kill me while I was too hurt to fight back. I could hear voices outside, then lots of fighting, and then Spike came in looking pretty dusty."

Willow's eyes didn't look like they could get much wider. "He saved you again?" she exclaimed.

"Yep," said Buffy. "It seems crazy, but he said he wants to have some kind of Slayer/ Master Vampire showdown with me. When he killed the other two Slayers, he said they were ultimate battles - incredible, epic fights. I guess me half dead in a crypt didn't really fit with his vision of taking me down."

"So is that what just happened in the alleyway?" asked Willow, a look of concern crossing her face. "Did you have your wild west high noon showdown? Oh my gosh, am I speaking to you post Olympic-level ultimate death match? Should I be getting you a sports drink right now?"

Buffy shook her head. "He...we...didn't fight. I was ready to, but..." 

"He didn't want to?" asked Willow. 

"I guess not," Buffy replied. She didn't want to get into the whole 'I couldn't stake him' thing. 

Willow looked puzzled. 

"There's just one thing I don't get," she asked. 'What did he mean 'that's not what you said last night'? Y'know, when he was being all..." she lowered her voice and pointed at her crotch. "...carnal knowledgey?"

"He meant that they'd had sex, Willow," said Angel. 

Buffy leapt out of her seat and span round. Her will-they, won't-they, not-quite-boyfriend was standing right behind the sofa the two girls were sitting on, and his face was dark with anger.

"What!?" Willow squeaked, her voice so high pitched that only dolphins could hear her.

"What the hell, Angel?" said Buffy, furiously, balling her fists.

He swept around to their side of the sofa and stood in front of Buffy, his body language more menacing than she'd ever seen it. She swallowed and sucked in a quick, tight breath to try and quell her sudden rush of fear. None of the alarm she felt showed in her face, but she knew Angel could sense her quickened pulse.

"What, are you saying it isn't true?" he snarled. "I heard you admit it, in the alley."

"Oh, so you were spying on me again? Could you be any more creepy or invasive, Angel? You could teach a course in stalking at Sunnydale U."

He completely ignored her - what a surprise - and instead just carried on speaking. 

"Earlier, in the bedroom, you'd said that the man you'd been with last night hadn't done anything you hadn't wanted him to do." 

Willow jumped at this, and her mouth fell open. "Buffy," said Willow timidly, putting a hand on her arm. "W...."

The Slayer shook her off and closed the distance between her and Angel. Not now, Willow, she thought. She could only deal with one confrontation about her sexual choices at a time.

She surprised herself by jabbing the vampire in his chest. 

"Fine," she spat. "Yes, we were intimate with each other. Well, he was intimate with me, to be precise. And I let him do what he wanted - because I wanted him to do it. And it was great. I passed out...afterwards. Then he left."

That was a lot of information for both Willow and Angel to take in at one fell swoop, and both of them were left speechless.

Angel was the first to recover. "He's evil, Buffy," he said, his eyes narrowed. 

"Oh, like you were?" Buffy shot back. 

Before Angel could react to the jibe, she gave a short, tight, defeated sigh and looked at him. 

"Look, I know, OK? I don't really understand why it happened. It was weird. He'd taken care of me, I....I know he's a killer. Like, a current one, not a retired one with a soul. But..."

"What?" said Angel. "But you can change him? But he's not that bad really? But he's good in bed so he gets a free pass?"

"I didn't say any of that that! I was just going to say....he couldn't bite Willow just now." replied Buffy. "Also what the hell are you even talking about? What has gotten into you? You're not my boyfriend, Angel. We've never even been for a cup of coffee together."

Willow inched backwards, looking increasingly uncomfortable at what was clearly turning into a very personal fight.

"I know Spike," said Angel, barely concealed fury dripping from each word. "I know him very, very well. And if he's making puppy dog eyes at you and pretending he's some kind of reformed character - it's an act. And you were dumb enough to fall for it."

Angel's eyes flashed yellow and she saw a muscle twitch in his cheek. He's trying not to let his demon out, thought Buffy. The realisation was followed by a rush of conflicting emotions that mixed together into a gloopy feelings cocktail that defied description. She was partly awed that she could make him lose control like that, slightly turned on that she could make him almost vamp out at the thought of her with someone else, a tiny bit pleased that he was mad, and furious that he thought it was OK to confront her about it all, especially in front of her friend. 

God, this was all so confusing...being a teenager was way hard enough without having to deal with incredibly jealous vampires. 

Feeling suddenly guilty, she lifted her hand to Angel's face, but he just knocked it out of the way. He span and half ran towards the exit, then was gone in a flash. 

Buffy sighed. "Well, that went great," she said in a flat, defeated tone.

She turned towards Willow and found the redhead slumped on the sofa, her brow furrowed. She'd pulled one of the sleeves of her jersey dress down over her hand and was worrying at a small hole there, prodding at it with her thumb. She didn't look up as Buffy moved closer to her.

"Will," said Buffy gently. Willow's worry lines deepened and she continued to stare at the floor. 

"I don't know what's going on with you, Buffy," she said in a quiet, sad voice. 

Buffy sat down next to her, then sighed. "Neither do I, Will. But I wouldn't have let him hurt you. You know that, right?"

Willow gave a weak little half smile, then reached out to squeeze the Slayer's hand. "I know." 

Buffy let out a huff of air and lay her head on the back of the sofa, exhausted. 'What am I going to do, Willow?" 

"I think...I think you're going to have to tell Giles," she replied, with an apologetic sideways glance.

Buffy groaned, then covered her face with both hands. Tell her Watcher she'd let a vampire get up close and personal with her in a crypt? Oh yeah, sure, no problem. Surely that's what deathbeds were for? 

Willow squeezed her hand sympathetically. "Look, Buffy, I know it's awkward, but it would be best if he heard it from you and not..." 

Angel. Of course. That's exactly the kind of dick move he would pull - all under the guise of being her faithful protector and being oh-so-worried about her. When in fact he was just being a jealous asshole.

Buffy turned her anguished, horrified eyes on her friend. She didn't need to speak to get her point across.

"Go, Buffy. Now. I'll be ok," said Willow. "I'll make one of the overly confident guys who were holding the door walk me home."

Buffy drew her kind-hearted friend into a sharp, tight hug and then took off out of the door at a flat run, hoping against hope she could get to Giles before Angel did.


	11. Chapter 11

Spike slouched towards the outskirts of town, looking every inch the poster boy for bad-tempered frustration. 

He glowered at everyone he passed, no longer trying to charm anyone with his bad boy good looks or his cocky swagger. What the hell was wrong with him? He should have drained the redhead, fought the Slayer - and won - and be on the way home to his dark princess with Buffy draped over one shoulder for them to enjoy the next morning like leftover pizza.

Spike needed to feed himself. He needed to feed Dru. And that meant finding a human to chow down on. But...what if he cornered another one only to discover that he couldn't...perform...again? 

He sighed, then slouched against a nearby wall, pulled a crumpled pack of smokes out of his duster pocket, stuck one between his lips and lit it, curling his long fingers around the match and cigarette to protect the flickering flame from the wind. 

He took a deep drag, then closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.

"I'm going to get my arse handed to me on a plate if any other vampires hear about this," he muttered. 

Spike wasn't just Spike because he wanted to be Spike. Not exactly, although the wanton savagery could be a lot of fun. 

Spike was Spike because he had to live up to his reputation as a pack leader, an alpha vamp who could do things like - for example - waltz into town, kill the Anointed One and take over his factory base full of unwaveringly loyal evil minions. 

The slightest sniff of weakness and one of those bone-headed tanks he used for muscle might, for example, realise Spike wasn't actually the biggest - or baddest - vampire around after all. 

His sharp wits helped keep him at the top of the food pyramid: he could talk even the most Hulk-like vamp into taking his side and joining his team (as long as they weren't too bright). And yes, his reflexes were honed and his fighting skills were second to none...and he took care to keep himself in shape. 

But at the end of the day, in terms of sheer heft, size and muscle he wasn't the world's strongest vampire, plus his right hand girl Dru was batshit insane and weak, and he needed to hide that fact as best he could and keep up appearances until he got his hands on the Du Lac manuscript - not to mention her sire and his restorative blood.

He sighed, again, then stubbed the cigarette out with one steel toed boot. There was only one thing for it, really, but at least Dru liked them fresh. Then, once she'd drunk her fill he could help himself to the leftovers while she slept it off.

Spike set off into the night to find the drunkest, most suggestible person he could find, and convince them go home with him.

\------

Buffy's lungs burned as she hurtled through the night towards her Watcher's house. 

Her mind was a staccato blur - the words "nonononononononononono" repeating ad infinitum in her head. She couldn't let Angel tell her Watcher she'd...no. No no no. This couldn't be happening. Nope. No way.

She sped up, skidded around the corner, sprinted to the foot of the red brick steps that led up to his door and took them three at the time, before hammering on the hard wood with her fists. 

Giles jerked the door open straight away, and the frazzled Slayer fell inside, panting for breath. Her eyes darted around the prim, neat apartment. No Angel. She huffed a short sigh of relief and then turned to look at her Watcher. 

He had a face like thunder. No, not thunder: a category five hurricane. Her heart sank.

The older man stood with his back to the closed door, looking at her with scathing disbelief. Buffy flushed bright red, then looked around the room again.

"Angel...got here before me?" she said in a small, unusually timid voice.

Giles rolled his eyes, tutted, and then took off his glasses. He pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed his eyes closed in frustration.

"Buffy, phones exist," said her Watcher, before putting his glasses back on and walking over to his whisky decanter to pour himself a Scotch. He poured a double, put the decanter down, then picked it up again and added more before downing the drink in one go.

"Giles..." said Buffy, moving towards him. He didn't turn around.

"Sit," he replied, indicating the sofa with a wave of his hand. The Slayer did as she was told, feeling more and more like a naughty pet who'd peed on the rug with every passing second.

Giles poured another Scotch and then slumped into the chair opposite her. Buffy looked at him, and then at the ground, and then at him again. What the hell was she supposed to say?

It seemed her Watcher was similarly lost for words. He rubbed his eyes and then looked up at the ceiling as if he hoped it held the answer to all of his questions. Taking a deep breath, he finally forced himself to speak.

"Spike, Buffy? You were with Spike? He was your 'good samaritan'?" said Giles, disbelievingly, before taking another pull on his drink. "What the hell is going on? And don't try to get away with only telling me half of the story, Angel shared many of the gory details so you don't need to bother leaving them out."

Buffy flushed even redder at that, twisting her hands in her lap. 

"You do know he's a bloodthirsty, vicious, notorious killer, don't you? That did come up when we were discussing him at very great length after his attack on the school?"

The acidic sarcasm and implication that she was an utter idiot stung even more than his disappointment. She took a deep breath.

"I was badly injured. I would have died. I think I almost did. Spike appeared out of nowhere, killed the demon, and saved me. He tended to my wounds, then he defended me from a pack of vampires. It was...very confusing."

Giles sat up as she said that, putting his glass down on the coffee table that separated them both. He leaned forward, brow furrowed.

"Why would he do that?" he said.

Buffy braved a quick glance at her Watcher's face. His earlier anger had been replaced with confusion, at least temporarily. As usual, he looked as if he was trying to work out quadratic equations in his head. 

"He...I think he. He wanted to save me for later," said Buffy. "He said something about how it wasn't the right way for me to die, that he wanted some kind of grand fight with me. And he wouldn't have got that if I'd bled out while lying on the grass at Restfield Cemetery."

Giles gave a jaded laugh. "Like a farmer saving a prize pig from a wolf, only to slaughter and eat it later."

"I guess," said Buffy, quietly.

He darted a quick look at his Slayer's flushed and miserable face, then turned away and began to pace up and down, one hand pressed to his forehead, painfully aware of the huge elephant in the room and the incredibly awkward topic he was going to have to tackle next.

Buffy decided to put him out of his misery.

"And...now you want to know....how we ended up getting...intimate?" asked Buffy, on his behalf. 

Giles turned and glared at her. "Yes. Fine. Well, how? Oh, and I was lying before, I definitely do not want the gory details." 

He sat back down heavily with a crushed, world-weary sigh.

Buffy closed her eyes, breathed in deeply, then kept them closed as she filled her Watcher in on the final part of the evening. 

"He bought me a blanket," she said.

"What?"

"And a cushion. For my head. I'd been lying on bare stone and I was in pain."

"Buffy...."

"We...had a minor scuffle, I fell off the stone tomb. He seemed almost worried about me, he was checking to see if I was hurt and then..." 

Maybe skip the part about the intense and overwhelming attraction, Buff, she thought to herself.

"Stuff happened," she said, with a shrug.

"Stuff. Happened," said Giles, wearily. "Well, I guess I did ask you to spare me the details. So, it was consensual?" 

That's what Angel had claimed on the phone, though Giles hadn't quite been able to bring himself to believe it. 

Buffy nodded, meekly.

"Why, Buffy? What on Earth were you thinking?"

There was absolutely nothing that she could say to that, because, hello, pink fog of lust. So she just stayed silent. 

"Spike is a savage killer with no soul who has viciously murdered two Slayers in the past. He's not just some - pretty boy - you can use to indulge your vampire fetish." 

"Woah, hey do you want to ease up here?" Buffy shot back, unable to believe what she'd just heard. Hurt, shocked tears sprung to her eyes.

"I do not have a..." she lowered her voice to a hissing whisper... "vampire fetish."

Giles tilted his head. "Oh no? So you don't go mooning after Angel because he's a..."

"I don't moon! And anyway, if I did I'd be doing it because he's a man, Giles. A tall, dark and handsome one. I didn't even know he was a vampire at first."

"No, but you did know he was pale, brooding, mysterious and liked to hang out in graveyards. Which, it seems, is your type."

Their voices were starting to rise, now. Giles and Buffy both stood up from their seats in unison, glowering at each other.

"So you're annoyed at me for being a normal almost-seventeen year old girl? Seriously? All I knew about Angel in the beginning was that he was a cute guy who kept following me, he still does. I didn't exactly mind that. That doesn't mean I have a vampire fetish."

"They're monsters, Buffy. They might talk like people, they might even look like people, many of them are very good-looking and seductive. Dracula, for example..."

Buffy's mouth fell open.

"Wait, what, Dracula's real?"

Giles shook his head, dismissing the question. 

"My point is, I thought you knew all of these things? Plus Slayers are - in theory anyway - supposed to mature more quickly than regular girls once they've been called..."

"OK, so how old am I in Slayer years, Giles? Old enough to make my own decisions?" Buffy folded her arms, tears blurring her eyes. This was even worse than she'd imagined.

Her Watcher just ignored the question.

"I didn't think that you, of all people, could possibly be taken in like this. It's just so disappointing. You're lucky you weren't killed. You're a very stupid girl, Buffy."

White-hot anger flared inside her, temporarily replacing the distress.

"You don't have the right to speak to me like that," she snarled.

"I have every right, and you know it."

"You're not my father!"

"Oh come on, Buffy, let's not have the whole 'you're not my daddy, you can't tell me what to do' argument yet again. I thought we were way past that. But then again, I guess a lot of things I thought about you don't really hold up to close scrutiny."

He was using his words like a whip to beat her with. Her tears started to flow in earnest, and Buffy angrily wiped them away with the back of her hand.

"Fuck you, Giles," she said softly. 

She wheeled around and darted out of the house as quickly as she possibly could, holding back the sobs until she was on the other side of the door. 

Buffy ran until she reached the sidewalk, then sat down on the bottom step with her head in her hands, tears dripping through her fingers. She felt utterly ashamed. The disgust she'd failed to feel earlier that day had been forced upon her - unbidden - by the person she respected most in the world. It was jarring and devastating. 

Her train of thought was interrupted by an obnoxious beep. She looked up. Oh God, not now, Buffy groaned internally.

A red car pulled up beside her with a screech of brakes, mounting the sidewalk briefly before crashing back down onto the road with a thud.

Only one person Buffy knew drove that badly. 

Cordelia wound the window down. "Buffy?" asked the dark-haired girl. "What are you doing sitting on a bunch of dirty steps like some kind of weird hobo?"

"Just relaxing," Buffy replied, hastily wiping her eyes. "It's my new Friday ritual. I sit on some steps, hum a jaunty tune to myself, maybe whittle something, tell some kids about the good old days or what I did in the war." She picked herself up off the step and dusted down her butt. "Anyway, nice chat, Cordy. See ya." She started to walk away.

"Buffy, hey!" Cordelia called after her in a much louder - and warmer - tone of voice. "What are you doing tonight? You know, apart from pretending to be an old homeless man."

"I'm going home," said Buffy. "It's like...actually what time is it?" 

"It's just after 8," Cordelia replied. "Buffy, you really need to buy a watch."

8pm? How was it only 8pm? It felt like a lifetime since she'd left the house to go patrolling.

"Come to a party with me," said Cordelia in a rush, interrupting her train of thought.

"A what?" Buffy couldn't have been more surprised if Cordelia had suggested going hang gliding with Mel Gibson.

"A party," said Cordelia, rolling her eyes. "You know, those things people go to when they're not completely lame. Lots of dancing, cute guys, it's a world away from step-sitting, Buffy. Maybe you should give it a whirl, you might like it."

"Why would I want to go to a party with you, Cordelia? We're not friends."

Cordelia completely ignored what Buffy had said, continuing. "It's a huge end of semester rager in a frat house, with college guys - wait, no, rich college guys. Hot, rich college guys. Like Richard Anderson, OK? As in Anderson Farms, Anderson Aeronautics, and Anderson Cosmetics. I could be Mrs Anderson Cosmetics!"

"I'm pretty sure Cosmetics isn't part of his surname, Cordelia," Buffy sighed. "So what, you need me to come and be some kind of third wheel while you try and seduce the heir to a makeup, farming and airplane fortune? Why would you even want that?"

"I...don't. Not really. But his fraternity have to have a certain balance at their party, and Richard explained it all to me, but I was so busy really listening that I didn't hear much. But basically they want me to bring someone with me. Another girl. So, will you come? Maybe Richard will have a friend, you could be rich too! Think of all the people we could help with our money."

The girl continued to babble about college guys and their net worth. Buffy just let her get it out of her system. 

She couldn't actually believe she was contemplating going to the party with Cordelia, but the conversation with Giles had left her bruised, wounded and simmering with barely suppressed rage. He'd judged her, tried to shame her, told her she was a disappointment to him. For what, exactly? A moment's indiscretion? Well, ok, several moments. 

If she was going to be tarred with a 'rampant slut' brush no matter what she said, she might as well enjoy it and have some fun.

"You know what, Cordelia," said Buffy, interrupting her incessant chatter. "Fine. I'll come with you."

"You will?" said Cordelia, surprised. "That's great!" Then she paused and looked Buffy up and down appraisingly. "Yeah, we're going to need to find you something to wear first."

Buffy looked down at herself. She'd been quite pleased with her outfit earlier. "What's wrong with this?"

"You look like a guidance counsellor," said Cordelia scathingly. "Come on, my house is a couple of blocks away and my parents are out. You're...well, I have some plus-size clothes put aside for goodwill that I owned when some medication I was on made me gain, like, ten pounds, maybe something in that pile might fit you."

"Oh jeez, thanks Cordelia," said Buffy, rolling her eyes. Against her better judgement, she opened the door and got into Cordelia's long-suffering, battered car. 

\-----

Buffy looked at herself in the mirror. The dress was....well it was barely there. It was a strappy black scrap of silk that skimmed the top of her thighs and emphasised her breasts, showing off her toned arms and angular shoulders. Cordelia had suggested she still wear her high-heeled, knee-high black leather boots, saying that she didn't think she had any shoes that would fit Buffy's huge Frankenstein feet.

Could she really wear this to a party full of older guys? It was certainly making a statement, that's for sure. 

Cordelia knocked on the door of the walk-in closet. "Are you naked?"

"Almost," muttered Buffy. Then, in a louder voice: "No, you can come in."

The sharp-featured girl strode into the room and Buffy turned to face her. "OK, I guess I'm ready," she said, reaching up to slide a hair clip into her slightly out of control blonde locks. 

"Uh huh," said Cordelia, shaking her head. "Buffy, I respect you too much to be dishonest. Your hair...that look...makes you look about five. Six, at a pinch."

"Hey!" said Buffy, "I like my hair." 

"Buffy, just...let me...."

Cordelia walked behind Buffy, grabbing a brush from a nearby table as she went. She ran it through the smaller girl's hair and pulled it into a neat but loose chignon, using the clip she'd confiscated to pin it in place. Then she turned Buffy round and quickly loosened some strands so they framed her face along with her bangs. 

She stood back and squinted critically like an artist approaching a canvas, then reached into a makeup bag and started to deftly work blusher into Buffy's cheeks, then used a longer, more tapered brush to do something to her eyes. She carried on in this vein for about five minutes before standing back to admire her handiwork. 

She span Buffy round, "voi-la," said Cordelia, pronouncing it entirely incorrectly.

Buffy gasped at the sight of herself. She looked at least five years older, the picture of sultry, sexy sophistication. The dress - what little of it there was - clung to her in all the right places. The artful chignon made her look stylish and mature, while the make up was smoky and alluring. Buffy found herself wishing Angel could see her. He wouldn't treat her as a child if he walked into this closet right now. 

Then a smaller, more insistent, traitorous voice whispered: I wonder what Spike would think? She shook her head sharply. 

"You don't like it," said Cordelia, sounding a bit puzzled.

"No," Buffy replied, warmly. "I love it. You're good at this. You should...work in fashion or something." 

Cordelia smiled at the compliment, before quickly rearranging her face into her usual expression of bratty impatience. 

"Well, it took me so long to make you presentable that we're going to get to the party fashionably late. And I was just aiming for slightly late. Let's go, quickly, before Richard hooks up with some floozy who isn't me."

Buffy took a final, lingering look at her new, more grown-up self. She felt a sudden sense of deja vu if she was teetering on the edge of some kind of huge chasm, a vast canyon that held something precious to her - and she had to go to it. Falling into the unknown. 

Cordelia yelled at her to hurry up and the spell was broken. The Slayer ran after her unlikely Friday night companion, wondering - yet again - what was going on.


	12. Chapter 12

Buffy could hear the dull roar of the huge party for a good thirty seconds before they turned a corner and the brightly lit frat house swung into view. 

For some reason Cordelia decided to accelerate towards it before abruptly stamping on the brakes and pulling up outside. Although 'pulling up' didn't accurately describe the juddering halt that the world's worst driver came to after smacking the back of the car she was trying to park behind. 

Music was blaring from the house and there were college students scattered all around it in a blast radius of drunken fun. The noise of screaming, laughing and - was that guy puking? - filled the air. Buffy shrank back in her seat, suddenly intimidated. 

Cordelia got out of the car, "c'mon, Buffy", she said in an imperious tone. Buffy took a deep breath and followed her.

They walked up the path and entered party ground zero. The two high school girls were barely through the door when two preppy guys walked over to them. 

"Richard!" cried Cordelia, batting her eyelashes at a tousle-haired blonde with movie star good looks. 

"Welcome, ladies," said Mr Anderson Cosmetics, before handing each of them a drink. "Let me introduce my friend Tom. I don't think you've met before."

"Hi Tom," parroted Buffy and Cordelia in unison. Buffy blushed. She sounded like a pupil meeting a new teacher. Cordelia took Richard's arm, who said something about a multi media room, then before Buffy knew it the two of them had disappeared and she was alone with the new guy. She looked up at him, not knowing what to say, clutching her drink anxiously. 

"Er, does this have alcohol in it?" she asked, wincing at how young she sounded. This would not do at all. She was Grown Up Buffy tonight. "Because I sure do hope so!" she said, brightly, taking a small sip. Urgh, mystery party booze.

"Sorry, I don't think I caught your name," said Tom, flashing a winning smile. He really was very handsome, thought Buffy. "I'm Buffy," she replied. "Summers. Er, Buffy Summers."

"Hello, Buffy Summers," Tom smiled. "Sorry about my friend. Actually he's not even really my friend. I only joined the fraternity because my father and grandpa were in it before me. I'm not really sure why your friend was so keen to come and hang out with these super-dull people."

It was Buffy's turn to smile. "She's not even really my friend. She's like, a friend-enemy. A frenemy."

A guy in a beige suit lurched towards them both, holding a glass of champagne in one hand. "Tom, hey, how are you doing bud?", the guy shouted, far more loudly than necessary. Tom rolled his eyes. "Another frenemy," he whispered. "Will you save me from a really dull fate and let me have this dance?" 

Buffy looked up at him and nodded. Tom took her hand and towed her to the centre of the room. They started to move together, slowly, but Buffy was distracted by the song that was playing. The lyrics stirred something deep inside her. 

If she bends, then she breaks  
She loves you, but then she takes it away  
She bends and she bows  
She's cold, but she melts like snow  
Bend and I'll break you  
Sleep and I'll wake you tonight  
She hates you, but then she makes a mistake

Buffy suddenly realised that Tom had said something: "Are you ok?" he repeated.

"Oh, yeah," she gave a weak smile. "It's just...I shouldn't be here."

"Why? Are you with someone?"

Buffy just shook her head, confusion clouding her mind. She should be thinking about Angel, but she wasn't. She wasn't even thinking about Spike, not really. She just felt like she was...sensing the outline of the future, somehow. Her new, grown up outfit, the things she and Spike had done in the crypt, it was all connected. It felt....

"The dull guy is gone," said Tom. "You don't have to dance with me anymore." He pulled away. Buffy took his arm and pulled him back towards her. 

"He might come back," she said with a shy smile. 

\-------

Finding a frat party hadn't been difficult, particularly as this one lit up the night sky like Blackpool bloody illuminations and battered his eardrums from a mile away. But when he drew closer Spike groaned with frustration. It was filled with rich bitches and posh wankers. There's no way someone who looked like Billy Idol's prison escapee brother could sneak into a gathering like that unnoticed. 

He'd just have to lurk outside in the garden and hope he stumbled upon a pair of foolish kids canoodling. If they were drunk enough he could take them both back to Dru, one over each shoulder. 

Spike slunk around the side of the building, doing some top quality lurking, then sidled closer to a window so he could take a quick glance inside and figure out the lay of the land.

He saw the usual collection of awkward, gangly teenagers dancing jerkily to shit music, before the crowd pulled aside and he saw a much more elegant pair wheeling prettily around each other like two statuettes on top of a music box. 

The woman was wearing a barely-there dress that was practically nightwear, and her dark-blonde hair was pulled up to expose a tanned, slim column of neck that made Spike's mouth water. God, he was hungry. The man was good looking enough too - he wouldn't say no, in fact - but the curve and sway of the woman's hips and thighs sparked something primal inside him. 

Then the couple span again, moving closer to the window, and Spike almost dropped his cigarette in shock. 

Buffy? Here? What the fuck?

He'd seen her less than four hours ago in the alley, wearing completely different clothes. But those kinky high-heeled boots were the same. It was her. 

She looked much older. Spike's mouth went even drier than it already was and he felt a sudden, debilitating kick of pure desire in his chest, closely followed by anger and envy. His demon squalled and wriggled inside him and Spike had to fight hard not to vamp out. Who the hell did that pathetic posh twat think he was, running his hands over her like that? Pawing at her, at his....his...his...she was his. He shook his head and pushed back from the window. 

The rush of lust that had accompanied the next-level jealousy had made him achingly hard. He moved away from the window, one hand pressing at his crotch, trying to adjust the situation down there as best he could.

Spike had never had such an intense and visceral reaction to seeing any woman before - particularly not a human. They were basically walking snack food. The exception to that rule had tended to be Slayers - he had loved the sweet dance to the death with the two he had killed. He'd respected them and their power and had revelled in pitting his skills against theirs. They almost seemed to have a demon inside them too, just like him. But he hadn't been attracted to either of them.

As he continued to ruminate on what the merry fuck was going on with his mind and his body, Spike sensed something else. A slow, low, thrum of energy coming from beneath the house. Puzzled, he knelt and put his palm flat on the ground beneath him, then recoiled, shaking his hand as if he'd been burned. 

This wasn't good. His feeding ground had already been claimed...a long while ago, if the ancient evil he'd sensed was as old as it seemed. Spike contemplated walking away and abandoning the rich pickings on offer at the frat party, but then he hesitated. Whatever else happened tonight, he absolutely had to eat - and so did Dru. He needed to take home at least one walking snack food. Plus...he couldn't just walk away and leave Buffy. 

He decided to pop down and have a poke around in the foundations, take a look-see. Maybe he could bargain with this old entity, make an gentleman's - well, demon's - agreement to bring it prey in return for a small helping of that battery-bright power. He could do with a pick-me-up.

Spike moved silently around the back of the building, stopping every so often to touch the ground, feeling the demon's energy surge and pulse upwards, guiding him towards its lair.

The trail led him to a densely overgrown corner of the garden. He parted the greenery, then hacked at the vines and dead plants beneath his feet, revealing a rusted old hatch that he wrenched open, chipping his black nail varnish in the process. He swore, then dropped down into the dark, dank hole the hatch had been concealing.

The vampire landed in around a foot of stinking water, swearing again as it splashed up over his legs and down into his boots. 

Spike glowered and moved down the damp, circular stone tunnel. It looked as if it had been hollowed out by some kind of eel. It was pitch black, so he shifted into his game face and squinted ahead with his glittering, yellow demon eyes, detecting a faint flicker of light many long metres ahead. Spike moved towards the glow, intrigued. 

The tunnel opened out into a stone chamber, which had 'evil lair' written all over it - and not just because there was some young chit of a girl manacled to the wall to his left. She jumped out of her skin when she saw him, and he lifted a finger to his lips theatrically while shaking his head. She bit her lip, then whispered: "please, help me."

Spike ignored her and walked over to the chasm in the corner of the room. The thrum of power he'd sensed from the garden poured from it, almost impossibly loud and intense. 

The vampire leaned in, licked his lips and then shouted: "hi honey, I'm home!" as loud as he could into the void. The girl screamed. Any minute now....thought Spike.

He walked backwards as a snake-like demon reared up out of the hole. 

"Er, hello," said Spike, "you're...long."

The creature trained its tiny eyes on Spike, its pale face flat and almost vampiric. It reared up above him like a cobra, ready to strike. Spike vamped out.

"Calm down, snakey. I'm a demon, just like you. Come to parlay, haven't I? Reckon we could do a little deal. I could bring you sweet little virgins, you could share a bit of that tasty power you've clearly got a decent supply of down there. Maybe convey some immense wealth upon me while you're at it? Or do you do wishes, like a genie? If so, I'll take three."

The Dark Lord Machida narrowed his tiny eyes even further, then glanced at the girl chained to the wall. 

"OK, OK, I get it, you've already got someone bringing you virgins. Fine, no problem. Sorry I asked. I'll just be off then."

Spike turned to leave, only to feel an instant disturbance in the air as the demon lunged at him from behind. Spike hopped easily out of the way, dodging the strike, then turned to face the demon again. He tugged on his collar, adjusting his long leather coat. He smiled, showing his fangs- his head cocked playfully to one side. 

"So a fight's what you want, is it, reptile boy? No problem. I'll kick your scaly arse into next week"

The vampire had been itching for a proper scrap ever since he left that damn crypt feeling more frustrated and horny than a whole frat party's-worth of teenage boys.

He rolled forward so he was underneath the thing's lunging grey body and then punched up as hard as he could, sending it reeling to one side. The demon rallied almost immediately and side-swiped Spike, knocking him off his feet. Machida grabbed him around the waist, trying to pull him towards the chasm into whatever fucked up dimension it came from. 

Spike ripped and teared at the creature's scaly flesh with his fangs until it finally dropped him, then darted to grab one of the flaming candlestick holders, jabbing it at Machida like a trident.

"Oh ho, you don't like that do you, you cold-blooded dickhead," crowed Spike, the thrill of battle flooding him, his movements light and teasing. He was far more agile than this monster. He dropped the candelabra, darted up the steps to the left of the chasm and then front flipped casually onto the demon's back like a cowboy as it flailed and roared in fury. 

"What the hell is going on?!" a voice echoed down the stairs, followed by a stampede of feet as a group of young men half fell, half ran down the stairs. 

Spike tightened his grip around Machida's neck, trying to choke the life out of the thrashing, howling creature - while at the same time looking over his shoulder at the intruders. He noted that their leader was a floppy-haired ponce with an accent that dripped with privilege, followed by...oh, hello, it was the dark-haired wanker who'd been dancing with Buffy.

Another rush of jealousy lent strength to Spike's tired, blood-starved arms and he redoubled his attempts to break the thing's neck.

"Leave the Dark Lord alone!" snarled the wanker, grabbing a sword from a nearby table that Spike had entirely failed to notice. The brief distraction caused him to lose his grip on the writhing demon and he was sent flying across the cavern, hitting the far wall with a crash, almost hitting the young girl whose cries for help had long since merged into a long, disbelieving howl.

Spike looked up at the girl's heavy iron manacles, then snapped them open, ripping her arms free. He tossed the girl aside, then reached up and pulled the manacles from the wall. Smiling gleefully, he turned to face the increasingly alarmed group of frat boys. Spike swung the chains around his head - once, twice, three times. He let them go and they arced through the air, tangling the ponce's legs so he fell to the ground, face-first, hitting his head on the hard stone. Blood spurted and pooled around his face, staining his blonde hair.

Wanker leaped over his fallen friend, sword held aloft. Spike simply reached out and grabbed him by the throat, catching him in mid air. The other boys froze, and went into reverse, backing slowly towards the stone stairs. 

Spike took the sword out of the wanker's unprotesting hand and turned it over, examining it. Then he threw it with unerring precision at the snake demon's chest, killing it instantly. It collapsed with a boneless, rubbery splat. The other three frat boys turned tail and ran, almost trampling each other in their haste to get away. Spike heard the door slam, high above them. 

"Looks like we're all alone, pretty boy," purred Spike. He lifted the boy higher, then threw him across the room. He landed on the demon's corpse, yelped, and then shuffled backwards. Spike paced towards him.

"Bit naughty, in't it? Feeding young girls to an immortal demon? You humans never cease to surprise me. Were you going to feed Buffy to this dark lord of yours?"

"What are you?" asked Tom, his face almost as pale as Spike's.

"Vampire," said Spike, bluntly. "Now, answer my question."

"Yes, we were. And her friend, too. But you can have her! She's yours. We...we'll bring her to you instead..."

Anger flared inside Spike. This good-looking arsehole had planned to kill the Slayer, just like that. He hadn't even known who she was, to him she was just another bog-standard high school virgin, just one of several courses in the demon buffet he'd been preparing in the frat house basement. What a stupid waste that would have been.

"She's mine, alright," growled Spike. "And I'll take her. But I definitely don't need your help to do that."

Spike reached down and gathered Tom's shirt in one pale fist, jerking him back to his feet. He pulled him in close, tilting the terrified boy's head to one side before clamping his fangs into his neck and draining the rich little punk's life's blood in one single, long, furious draught. He tossed his corpse aside like the trash it was, feeling strength course through his body. He'd been so hungry. Blood trickled from the corner of Spike's mouth. He wiped his lips roughly with the back of his hand, feeling relieved. 

That was more like it. The Big Bad was back in action. It might be the case that he could only kill demons, and humans who behaved like demons, but it was much better than nothing.

He leapt up the stairs in a single bound, letting his face revert to its human form before tearing open the door. 

Time to find Buffy.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, I know it's been a while since the oral sexathon in the crypt. Here's some smut.

Buffy poked around in Tom's nightstand, prodding at various unfamiliar bottles. There was a lot of hand lotion and several boxes of tissues. She tilted her head to one side, recalling that Xander also kept hand lotion and tissues next to his bed.

Boys definitely had some weird habits, she thought. 

She hummed to herself, still holding her barely-touched drink. She figured if she kept a relatively full glass on her at all times, guys might stop trying to force terrible cocktails into her hands while also trying to look down the front of her dress. 

Tom had disappeared about twenty minutes earlier. Buffy had still been dancing with him when Richard had rushed up to them looking worried and pulled Tom to one side. He'd left without a backward glance at her. Rude. 

Buffy had waited for him to come back for a while, then got bored and decided to sneak upstairs and explore the building. She hunted down Tom's room and - after a quick glance up and down the corridor to check no one was there - crept inside to see what she could find out about him. 

It turned out that the answer was...not much. The room was nondescript. Plain, even. There were no band posters on the walls, no books lying around. There were two nightstands and a long, heavy dresser beside the door filled with neatly folded sweaters and jeans, but apart from that it could have been a hotel room. It was kinda weird. 

She heard the door handle turn and she span around, clutching her drink to her chest, flushing despite herself, wondering what she should say to Tom. He must have come looking for her. She felt suddenly shy and very embarrassed about being caught in a strange guy's room looking at his things. 

But when the door opened, it wasn't Tom on the other side. 

Buffy gaped.

"Spike?" she said, utterly incredulous. "What...what the hell are you..."

She moved towards him, her free hand reaching out, fingers extended towards his leather clad arm. 

"Get inside, now," she hissed, then pulled him into the room, closing the door behind them and leaning on it, breathing heavily. 

"What are you doing here?" she said, her brow furrowed in confusion. 

"What am I doing here?!" asked Spike. "What are you doing here? Last time I saw you were heading into the bloody Bronze. Now you're here dressed like...like...."

His words trailed off as he let himself look at her properly, drinking her in. 

"Like what, Spike," said Buffy, her voice suddenly hard. She didn't want any more lectures about her life choices or her outfit, not from Giles and certainly not from Spike. 

"Like a fucking goddess," he growled, his eyes glinting yellow. Buffy's spine turned to water and her eyes widened in shock (and lust. Lots and lots of lust). She brushed past him and sat down on the edge of the bed, not trusting her legs to support her. Spike closed the distance between them and plucked the untouched drink from her hands, before taking a long, slow sniff. 

"Drugged," he said, casually, before tossing it into the corner of the room. Buffy flinched at the sound of the glass smashing. 

"What are you talking about?" she said, a tremor creeping into her voice.

"The frat boys. They were going to drug you and feed you to a demon in the basement. And a couple of other girls too."

Buffy leapt to her feet. "Oh my god, Cordelia. Did you see my...friend?"

"There was a girl there, dunno who she was but she got away. Demon's dead now. So's that tall wanker you were dancin' with," Spike's eyes narrowed.

"You've been spying on me?" said Buffy angrily. "Seriously? First Angel, now you. What is it with vampires?" She paused for a second. "Er, also - what do you mean, Tom's dead?" 

"He was feeding virgins to a reptilian demon. Plus he tried to kill me with an enchanted sword. I've killed a lot of men for a lot less."

Buffy looked like she was wrestling with something for a moment, then she just sighed and shrugged. "Fair enough," she said simply. "So...it's over? I don't have to do anything?" 

Spike nodded. 

"I guess you saved me again," she said, her tone expressionless.

"I'm the one who gets to kill you, Slayer. No one else. Certainly not some jumped-up college twat. Or some ancient snake-thing." 

"So you're still planning to kill me?" she asked in an unusually quiet voice.

Spike frowned and fell silent. She looked up at him, searching his blue eyes, seeing herself reflected in them. Spike looked down at her, then - hardly knowing what was happening - he reached out and stroked one of Buffy's tanned, bare arms. She shivered at the contact. 

His voice was hoarse when he finally opened his mouth to speak. "It's to be a glorious battle, Slayer. Nothing less. You an' me at the peak of our power. It'll go down in the history books."

Buffy's eyes flashed with anger and she pushed him away, then stood up as if to leave, turning her back on him. Such a pretty back, thought Spike.

"What's the matter now?" he said, annoyed.

"Why?" Buffy replied. "Why do we have to fight?"

Spike furrowed his brow. "It's destiny, isn't it. Slayer vs. vampire. We're supposed to..."

"No," said Buffy, simply. She turned round to face him again. He opened his mouth to speak and she put her fingers on his lips. "No," she repeated, leaving her fingers where they were. He tried to speak for a third time and she increased the pressure until he fell silent.

"Spike, we...need to talk about what happened last night," she said. 

The vampire just stared at her, silently, his eyes glittering. The air between them felt heavy and supercharged with energy, like the moments before a thunderstorm.

"What about it?" he mumbled around her fingers, his voice low. Their eyes were locked on each other. Buffy opened her mouth, then closed it. Her cheeks flushed a deep, scarlet red. 

"I want to do it again," she whispered. 

She didn't need to say it twice. There was no hand-wringing, no "are you sures?" or stupid back-and-forths about what it might mean if they did. As soon as he heard what she'd said, Spike let out a sharp, tight growl of need and immediately pounced, knocking her back onto the bed, kissing her desperately - deep, greedy kisses fuelled by frantic desire. He crushed his mouth against hers, claiming her. 

Buffy was pinned down, unable to move, the breath squeezed from her lungs by the muscle and heft of him, her breasts crushed against Spike's hard chest. She moaned and grabbed at his shoulders, trying to push his long jacket down over his back. She needed to see him, all of him.

He stilled her hands and sat up to shrug his duster off. As soon as the leather coat hit the floor, his T-shirt followed and Buffy practically purred with satisfaction. She stared at him, drinking in the sight of his smooth, beautiful chest, running her hot hands frantically over his stomach muscles before moving up to scrape and scratch at his nipples with her fingernails like she was possessed, making him growl and moan. 

"Slayer," he said, his voice ragged with lust. His hard cock was clearly visible, outlined against the skin-tight black denim. God, he was big, she thought, her pussy twitching and spasming as she imagined it sliding between her legs, impaling her, stretching her...she threw her head back in a deep, stomach rattling groan as the filthy images rushed through her mind, and Spike lent down to nip and suck at her throat, nibbling on her like she was some kind of...snack. She pushed him off her again.

"Hey, no," she said, sternly. "No biting." 

Spike looked at her, his eyes hooded, a naughty smile curling his lips. "Are you tellin' me you don't want me to nibble on your sweet little clit, Slayer?" he murmured. "I seem to remember you enjoying that last night."

Buffy's hips jerked involuntarily as Spike's dirty talk hit her pussy like a taser. An electric jolt flared between her legs and she stared up at him, shaking her head, made stupid by utter lust. 

Spike smiled even more widely when he saw her glassy expression and realised the effect his words had had on her. He reached under her too-short black dress and traced the outline of her puffy cunt lips through her sodden panties, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Fuck, Slayer, you're so wet," he groaned, before tugging the soaked scrap of silk to one side and running one cool finger from her dripping opening up to her hard, sensitive little peak, circling it with feather-light, gentle touches that made Buffy keen and tremble. He moved to lie beside her, pulling down her dress with his other hand, freeing her breasts. No bra, he thought, wonderingly. Little minx. Bet all the blokes at this party got a bloody good look tonight.

Spike slid his free arm behind her shoulders, then reached around and down to play with her left nipple. At the same time, he dipped his head to take her right breast in his mouth, sucking it between his tongue and teeth, nibbling and licking. His other hand continued to pet her dripping slit, stroking her with two fingers, dipping sporadically into the wetness between her legs before moving up to circle her clit again in smooth, firm, fast, delightful strokes. 

Buffy ran her hands through Spike's pale curls, gripping and pulling him closer, pushing her breast harder against his mouth as she felt the slow burn of her orgasm start to build. She groaned and parted her thighs more widely as the deliciously hot ache grew and spread. Spike hooked his right leg over Buffy's, spreading her even wider as he continued to pleasure her.

"Oh Spike, yes, yes, yes, yes, please," she babbled, desperately pleading for release, gasping and whimpering and squirming. Spike continued his insistent, maddening suckling while at the same time pinching her other nipple between his fingers, flicking it roughly. 

She bucked her hips to meet his caresses, thrusting against him with fast, spasmodic little movements that the vampire instinctively matched, rubbing her harder, making her yelp and cry out and plead with him not to stop.

Seconds later, Spike felt her start to tip over the edge. He lifted his head from her breast and peppered her face with soft kisses.

"Oh good girl, come for me, luv," he said, staring down at her flushed, beautiful, frantic face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, wet lips parted as she finally screamed her release, white lights flickering behind her closed eyes, her spine arching away from the mattress, shuddering and shuddering in his arms as he gradually stilled his questing fingers. 

She was bathed in sweat, her bangs plastered to her forehead, her skin burning and flushed. She was fire in his cold arms and he drew her spent body to him, cradling her against his chest and stroking her damp hair, which had come loose as she thrashed against the pillow. 

Her eyes fluttered open to meet his own. He raised an eyebrow. 

"Any good?" he purred, looking incredibly self-satisfied. Buffy blushed and hid her face in the crook of his arm. "Uhhh huh," she said with a nervous laugh, clearly feeling shy. 

He took hold of her hair and pulled her head back, slightly more roughly than he intended. She looked up into his face and it almost burned her. It was like staring into the sun....if the sun was a lust-addled vampire, that is. His eyes were lion-yellow and she could sense that he was only just in control of his demon. She knew she should be afraid, but she was anything but.

"Look at what you've done to me," he growled. He twisted his hand in her hair and pulled her head around, forcing her to look at his bulging crotch. 

Once Spike was sure he had her full attention he reached down with his free hand and unzipped his fly slowly, before reaching in and freeing his cock. It sprang out of his pants, hard as amber. He took hold of himself, stroking upwards before rubbing the soft pad of his thumb over the tip.

Buffy was transfixed, she just stared at his erection, amazed, eyes huge, her pupils wide and dark. Spike squeezed himself again, loving the awed way she was looking at his stiff prick. 

"Like what you see, Slayer?" he murmured. She continued to stare and he moved his hand away so she could take in the full sight of him, standing to attention. 

Buffy flexed her fingers and slowly, tentatively inched them towards him, moving as if she was in a dream, until she was so close he could feel the heat of her hand hovering a millimetre away from his skin. Then, after a moment's hesitation, she wrapped her fingers around the thick base of his cock.

Spike hissed like he'd just jumped into a vat of ice water and fell back heavily onto the bed, rolling slightly away from her. She didn't let go, and instead rolled too so she was half on top of him, her leather-booted leg hooked over his, her dress reduced to a thick belt around her stomach, thighs slick with her own excitement. She carried on staring at him for several long seconds. Spike moaned in frustration, his dick twitching in her fist.

"Move your hand, pet" muttered Spike thickly. "Stroke my cock, please. You're gonna make me come so hard. I need you..."

As if some kind of strange spell had been broken, Buffy darted forward and ran her tongue up his rock-hard length before enveloping him in her mouth, grazing the spongy head of his cock with her teeth. Spike's hands gripped her hair and his eyes flew open in shock. 

"Fuck, Slayer," he cried out, his hips jerking upwards. She released him with a lewd, wet pop.

"That's the idea, Spike," she cocked her head, smiling wickedly as she sent his own words spinning back at him, the tables thoroughly turned. 

She licked him from base to tip and then took him in his mouth again, pushing down further this time, trying to take more of him into herself. Spike made noises she'd never imagined any man, or vampire, could make - shuddering, almost tearful breaths, pleas, gasps and entreaties...he was suddenly so vulnerable and exposed. She was doing this, she realised in amazement. She was reducing him to this state of abject powerlessness and desire. She'd never felt stronger, or more in control.

Damn, her mom's back issues of Cosmo really didn't do this justice. They talked about blowjobs like they were some kind of...duty. A way to please your man and keep him faithful. But Buffy felt as if the pleasure was all hers. 

Without removing Spike's cock from her mouth, Buffy rose to her knees. She parted them and ran her right palm flat along her dripping slit, then brought her hand back to him and used her juices to lubricate his shaft, moving her fist upwards to meet the downwards motion of her lips and tongue. 

"Fucking hell," Spike howled, his hips rising from the bed. "You're a bloody natural."

Buffy shrugged as if to say 'well, duh', her mouth full to bursting. She carried on sucking and pumping him, then slid her left index finger into her aching pussy, forcing it inside her tight cunt before starting to plunge in and out in time to the rhythm she'd built up with her right hand. Spike realised what she was doing to herself and she felt him swell and grow, more turned on that he'd been in his entire existence. 

"Can't hold on," he gasped, "Buffy luv, gonna come so hard, you ready?" He looked down at her flushed, rude face, his cock sliding in and out of her moist red lips, her hair fisted in his right hand as her head bobbed up and down. Instead of releasing him as he'd expected, she just opened her mouth wider and angled herself to take him deeper, pushing herself forwards until the tip of his cock hit the back of her throat. Spike came with an inhuman sound that was half roar, half scream, as he emptied himself into her. 

She swallowed him down, pleased and proud that she'd made him come so violently. 

Spike moaned and let go of her hair, rubbing his face with both hands. She gave his cock a last, lingering lick and then crawled up the bed towards him, letting him take her in his arms. His cool, pale, smooth body was a delight against her sweaty, blisteringly hot skin - like turning the pillow over to lie on the cold side after a feverish dream.

"You'll be the death of me, Slayer," he murmured into her hair, before pressing a kiss onto the top of her head.

"I thought that was the whole point," she whispered back. "Still want to kill me?"

Spike didn't reply immediately. His other hand rubbed thoughtful, calming circles on her bare back as they lay entwined in the dead boy's bed.

"Can't. How could I live without you now I know all the things your hot, filthy little mouth can do?"

As ceasefire agreements went, it wasn't very traditionally worded. But it definitely worked for her.


	14. Chapter 14

Buffy closed her eyes for a second, letting the soothing hubbub from the party below wash over her.

For some reason, lying in Spike's arms didn't feel strange at all. She felt...safe. She wiggled closer to him; his body had absorbed her warmth and as she laid her palm on his chest she was almost surprised not to feel a heartbeat. She continued to explore the pleasing dips and curves of his smooth torso with the same inquisitive hand, stroking him, moving lower, tracing his firm stomach muscles with one teasing finger.

She was rewarded with a low growl and he grabbed her hand, holding it, running his thumb over her knuckles. 

"Not done with me yet?" said Spike, his voice roughened by the violent orgasm she'd just given him.  
  
Buffy looked up at him, his blue eyes were predator-sharp, alert but playful - like a cat watching a toy. His sensual lips were curved in a roguish smirk.   
  
Buffy smiled back. "Actually Spike, I've got a bit of a bone to pick with you."   
  
Spike's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, is that so?" he said in mock-surprise. He put one arm behind his head.  
  
Buffy pouted theatrically. "Well I _believe_ I'd said that I wanted to do it again."  
  
"What?" said Spike, genuinely puzzled this time.  
  
"What we did last night."  
  
Spike looked confused for a few more seconds before realisation finally dawned.   
  
"Oh, you mean _exactly_ what we did last night?" he said, with a pleased, slightly smutty laugh. He put his mouth to her ear and his honeyed voice dipped to a throaty purr. "That can certainly be arranged, Slayer."  
  
Before she knew it she was flat on her back with Spike perched above her. He gripped both of her wrists in one large fist, then lifted them up above her head, pinning her in place.

Using his free hand, he tugged the belt-like, bunched up little black dress down over her hips and her boots, then threw it into the corner of the room.  
  
Buffy could have easily broken his grip at any point during the process, but instead she pretended to struggle, wriggling her hips from side to side, occasionally arching her back to bring her heaving breasts within millimetres of his face.   
  
"Let me go, Spike..." she said, injecting a breathless note of panic into her words. Role play - another top tip she'd gleaned from her mom's stack of Cosmo magazines. Boy, she was really ticking off lots of 'firsts' this evening.  
  
"You can't do this, I won't let you. It's _wrong_. You're very _bad_." She twisted in his grip again, making an ineffectual attempt to free her hands while at the same time rubbing her crotch against him. Spike looked down at her, amazed at the turn the evening had taken, and very, very turned on by it.  
  
Who would have thought this chit of a girl liked to play kinky games? He suspected she was as surprised as he was.  
  
Buffy looked down the tunnel they had created between their bodies, and was rewarded when she saw his already semi-hard cock grow and twitch, moisture beading at the tip.   
  
Spike slid his free hand between her legs, finding nothing but slippery wetness there.  
  
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he purred.  
  
Buffy yelped and jerked beneath him as he brushed her clit lightly with his fingers, gripping her arms even tighter. She was definitely going to have bruises, she thought. But she didn't mind. In fact, something about the idea of being marked by him sang to her, making the pulse between her legs beat even harder.  
  
She stopped pretending to resist, lying still beneath him. She highlighted her surrender with a shuddering breath, then whispered his name - half plea, half acceptance. She wanted this; why pretend she didn't, even if it was just a game?  
  
Spike brought Buffy's tangled hands to his lips, kissing them, then let go of her wrists and trailed his hand down her arm, lingering briefly on her collarbone and then dropping to her left breast, pausing to caress her hard nipple briefly before continuing downwards.

He took his other hand from between her legs and ran both of them along her sides, just as he'd done in the crypt. Then he moved to stroke the sensitive, raised, red scars that were all that remained of the terrible injuries she'd suffered. Buffy's eyes fluttered open at the unexpectedly gentle caress. She looked up to see him crouched over her, looking at her with the same deep intensity he had last night - just before they'd kissed for the first time.  
  
As if he was reading her mind, Spike dipped down to capture her lips between his, lying on top of her, no longer holding back. He knew she was healed.   
  
She stretched out her body, pressing as much of her skin against his as she could. She wanted as much contact as possible; she wanted to be covered by him.  
  
He was still wearing his jeans, though they had been pushed down below his hips. Buffy threaded her fingers into the waistband and pushed, silently demanding he take them off. Spike wiggled out of them, obligingly, so they were both completely naked...apart from her high heeled boots.   
  
Spike stroked one booted leg appreciatively, cocking a scarred eyebrow.  
  
"Might leave these on, pet, if it's all the same to you," he said, grinning wickedly as he bent to capture her nipple, worrying it with blunt teeth before moving across to the other, making sure both were equally well-licked. He nipped at each breast in turn, moving from one to another a few times, then nuzzled against her soft skin.  
  
Buffy mewled as answering jolts of pleasure shocked her swollen clit, which was still throbbing from the intense, world-will-never-be-the-same-again feeling of making Spike come with her mouth a few minutes earlier.  
  
"Now, where were we, kitten?" asked Spike, continuing to lavish attention on her breasts. "Oh yes - you wanted to do what we did last night."  
  
"Uh huh," murmured Buffy, her eyes hooded. Her pussy was pulsing in time to his licks and kisses, she wondered if she might be able to come just from the sensation of his lips and tongue on her tits alone...she made a mental note to try and find out soon. But not right now.   
  
"What do you want, luv? Tell me," whispered Spike, sitting up and replacing his mouth with his fingers, continuing to flick and fondle her sensitive nipples until she started to jerk her hips against him and cry out.   
  
"I want...what you did before."  
  
"You have to say it," growled Spike. "Say it, Slayer. Beg me to eat your tight, slick, beautiful cunt."  
  
Buffy flushed deeply, shy despite everything they'd been doing in the strange bedroom.   
  
"Spike..." she breathed, suddenly uncertain, her Cosmo-fuelled confidence wavering.  
  
"Say it, Buffy. Tell me what you need." His voice was ragged and hoarse, she could tell he wanted it as much as she did, maybe even more.  
  
She lifted her hips towards his face desperately, groaning as the ache between her legs became ever more unbearable.  
  
In the end, she moaned the words rather than saying them. "Spike, please, lick my pussy..."  
  
Before she'd even finished the sentence he had dropped to lie flat on the mattress, his arms reaching under her thighs to yank her firmly against his mouth. Buffy cried out, a fresh wave of wetness pouring from her. He revelled in it, turning his head from side to side, rubbing his face in her juices.  
  
His tongue darted out and swiped across her clit, making her squeal and thrash against him. Spike gripped her hips, holding her tightly in place as he licked her a second time, then a third...a fourth.  
  
Her head fell back onto the pillow and she clawed at the sheets with flailing hands, bunching the fabric in her clutching, desperate fists. Spike changed tack and hunkered further down, probing at her hot, swollen entrance. He'd remembered how she'd sighed with pleasure when he'd briefly tongue fucked her the night before and decided that was definitely something he needed to try again.   
  
Buffy felt Spike slide his tongue inside her and her eyes fluttered open. Gentled by the change of pace, she put one hand on the back of his head, almost like a benediction. Her other hand went to her breast and she started to finger her nipple, pinching it in the same way Spike had earlier. She whined and hitched her hips against his mouth, trying to force more of his tongue inside her aching pussy.  
  
He continued to fuck her, then splayed one free hand over her mound and began to rub her clit with his thumb.  
  
"Uh huh, oh yes, like that," said Buffy, rolling her hips in time with his slow, insistent strokes. She was so, so close. She felt Spike pull back slightly, and she tightened her grip on his hair, holding him against her. She was seconds away from a bone-melting orgasm, she couldn't bear the thought of him stopping now.  
  
He pulled his left arm from beneath her thigh and brought it under her butt, lifting her up slightly. She frowned for an instant, confused, then gasped as his hand moved again and she felt a cool, insistent finger slide between her ass cheeks, moving up to join Spike's tongue for a second before descending again to push and probe at her lower opening.   
  
"Spike?" she said, unsure of what was happening, her voice high and wavering.  
  
"Shh pet, it's ok," he mumbled semi-coherently, his tongue still busy thrusting in and out of her slick channel.  
  
He redoubled his assault on her clit with his thumb, then slowly slid his sopping wet index finger into her virgin ass, breaching the tight ring of muscle easily, making her yell, thrash and cry out at the unexpected - but not unwelcome - intrusion.  
  
Half a second later, she came - not just once, but what felt like a hundred times. She was caught up in a chain reaction of explosive pleasure, wave after wave of bliss smashing into her. It was as if she was being torn apart and remade. Her head felt as if it would burst, and a shuddering, window-shattering scream tore from her throat. White-gold fireworks flashed behind her eyes as every single muscle in her body spasmed. Her body lifted off the bed; she felt like she was spiralling up into the universe, formless.   
  
When she eventually returned to her usual dimension, Buffy looked down to find her hands twisted in Spike's short hair, holding him in place, with her toned thighs tightly locked around his head in a vice-like grip. Slayer strength plus sex - that was a combination she was probably going to have to keep a close eye on, she thought.  
  
It was a good job he didn't need to breathe.


	15. Chapter 15

Xander was walking upstairs to the bathroom when he heard a bone-chilling scream that almost made him drop his stolen glass of champagne. 

He froze, pushing himself against the wall, eyes wide with alarm.

Why had he decided it was a good idea to crash a frat party on the Hellmouth? Stupid, stupid Xander. Messy death at the hands of some demon or other was definitely not worth the free gloopy salmon canapés he'd managed to cram into his mouth while trying hard to avoid anyone who looked like they might want to kick his ass or throw him out - or both.

He heard another, softer cry, followed by what sounded like a scuffle. Damn, where was Buffy when you needed her?

Xander crept over to the bedroom door, then- after a deep, shuddering, anxious breath - threw it open with a (hysterical and slightly unhinged-sounding) battle cry that was intended to intimidate any murderers that might be in the middle of a frat house killing spree.

His Braveheart yell quickly died in his throat, turning into a sort of strangled yelp as he was confronted by the most R-rated scene he'd ever witnessed in real life.

He noticed everything in freeze-frame increments, realisation dawning along with white-hot embarrassment. 

Exhibit A) a pair of tanned, slim legs. Exhibit B) a pale, muscled guy kneeling between them. Exhibit C) the pale guy's very in-your-face bare butt, almost at eye level.

"Oh God, shit, sorry," said Xander. He backed towards the door, but missed it in his absolute mortification. He bumped into the dresser instead, knocking a vase off the wooden surface. 

"Sorry, sorry...argh," he bent to pick it up, one hand clamped over his eyes. He stood up too quickly and bashed his hand on a drawer handle, then yelped in pain and almost dropped the vase again. 

"Xander?!" said the girl in the bed, a note of utter horror creeping into her voice. 

Xander froze, his back to the couple, eyes staring into the middle distance, wide with disbelief and - yes - also horror. Much, much horror.

"B...Buffy?"

He didn't dare turn around. He heard frantic scrambling behind him as clothes were retrieved. 

"What, you know this bloke too?" said the naked man, startling Xander with his broad British accent. "Are you mates with everyone in this bloody town or what?"

"Shut up, Spike," she whispered. "Put your clothes on...NOW."

"SPIKE?" said Xander. "As in, the vampire who attacked the school? As in, leather jacket wearing, Slayer-killing scourge of Europe? That Spike?" 

Xander turned around, one hand over his eyes, waving the vase in his other hand like a weapon.

"What's going on?" he said, panic creeping into his voice. "I heard a scream. If you've hurt her I'll... I'll kill you." 

He continued swatting the air in the vague direction of the bed for a moment, then felt a soft hand close around his wrist. The vase was plucked from his grip and put back down on the dresser. 

"You can open your eyes now, Xander," said Buffy, quietly. 

Nerves thrumming, and still feeling very much in need of a bathroom, Xander took his hand away from his face. 

Buffy was standing in front of him in a very crumpled black dress, her hair a tangled mess. Her face was flushed, though he wasn't sure whether it was from embarrassment or the aftermath of whatever had just made her scream like she was being murdered. 

Spike lounged on the bed, shirtless. He'd squeezed back into his tight jeans and was lying propped up on his elbow with one knee bent, legs spread, erection clearly visible. His pale chest was covered in scratches. His expression was shameless and proud - chest puffed with wicked, self-satisfied amusement. 

He nodded sarcastically in Xander's direction as their eyes met.

"Nice to make your acquaintance, mate," he said. "You certainly know how to pick your moments." As he said that, he reached down and made a very graphic show of adjusting his cock in his pants. 

Xander looked away, red-faced.

"Spike," Buffy hissed. "Will you please stop showing your...crotchal region...to my friends?"

She took Xander by the arm and led him out of the room, closing the door behind them.

They stood in the corridor in silence for a few moments. Xander stared at the floor, Buffy chose to focus on the wall. There was a crack just in front of her eyes that, if she focused on it hard enough, might just open and swallow her up. 

Xander cleared his throat. "Guess I should probably have knocked, huh?" He gave her a rueful half-smile. She didn't return it.

"Xander...what are you doing here?" asked Buffy with a sigh. She twirled a lock of tangled blonde hair around her finger, wondering how much he'd seen. How much of her he'd seen.

"Heard Cordelia talking about this once-in-a-lifetime college party. I thought it might be fun to show up, embarrass her a bit, steal some free snacks. Spending a Friday night listening to my parents argue wasn't exactly high up on my 'must do' list and our plan to watch terrible Bollywood movies and braid each others' hair clearly slipped your mind, so I had to make my own entertainment instead."

"Sorry," said Buffy. She looked down at the floor again. Guess she was being a pretty sucky friend at the moment.

"Turns out I'm not the only one making my own entertainment tonight, huh?" said Xander, his tone unconvincingly light. She could tell he was hurt, worried and confused.

Buffy looked up at him. "I...things got a bit...um..."

"'A bit um'? Well thanks Buff, that clears things up. Catching you boinking a vampire at a frat party all makes perfect sense now," he said, attempting -and failing - to laugh. It came out as a sort of weird, dry bark instead. 

"Xander!" Buffy's brows knitted together. How the hell could she even begin to explain everything? "Look, it's complicated, OK? He's...we're...there's something about him that..."  
  
She groaned and slumped to the ground, her back against the wall, her head in her hands. 

"Honestly, Xander, I don't know what's going on," she said, softly. "The only thing I can say is that it's my choice. I need you to know that he hasn't forced me to do anything."

Xander opened his mouth to speak - not entirely sure what he was going to say - when they were interrupted by an entirely non-sexual scream from the floor below.

Buffy jumped to her feet, adjusting her dress, flicking back her hair, instantly in Slayer mode.

"Come on," she said to Xander. 

Spike opened the door, still shirtless. "What about me?" he said. He'd clearly been listening to their conversation. Buffy sighed.

"Just go, Spike. I can handle it. I'm pretty sure that's a 'oh my god I just found the bodies' scream, so you should probably make yourself scarce."

He just nodded, his face impassive. He closed the door. A second later Buffy heard the window creak open, followed by a heavy thud as he dropped two storeys onto the ground below.

Buffy and Xander ran downstairs, a girl was slumped on the sofa, sobbing. Other partygoers were standing around looking shellshocked.

"What's going on?" Buffy asked, grabbing the boring, drunk-off-his-ass guy who'd lunged at Tom earlier. He didn't reply. She gave his arm a shake.

"Oh, it's Richard and Tom. They're...dead."

"Dead how?" asked Buffy. 

"Dead...dead," said the drunk guy, confused. "Someone found them in the basement. They had, like, chains and stuff down there. Maybe it was, like, some kind of sex thing gone wrong?"

"Leave it to me. I'll deal with it. Get everyone else out of here," said Buffy firmly.

For a second he looked like he was going to protest, then he thought better of it and started rounding up shell-shocked college students.  
  
Buffy walked over to the phone, took a very, very deep breath, and then called her Watcher. 

\---

They'd found Cordelia unconscious, hidden behind the bar in the frat house multi-media room. 

Giles lifted her onto the living room sofa while they went to deal with the demon's body - something that took way longer than Buffy was expecting. The thing was huge. Had Spike really killed it all on his own? Colour her impressed.

They left the two boys where they'd fallen. The police would have to deal with the human corpses. Sunnydale cops were pretty used to strange ritual basement deaths, especially ones that involved vampire bites. Chains and enchanted swords weren't all that out of the ordinary either. They probably had a basement full of them at the station.

Eventually, after a lot of chopping and stuffing bits of snake demon back into a handily-situated void into an alternate dimension, it was time to leave. 

Cordelia still hadn't come round, so Xander carried her back to Giles' car before draping her clumsily over the back seat. Giles got behind the wheel, staring straight ahead. He'd barely said two words to Buffy since he'd arrived. It could have been worse, though...at least he hadn't brought Angel.

Xander could sense the tension: he'd been chattering awkwardly the whole time, but now even he fell silent, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

"Er, so I've got Cordy's keys, I'm going to drive her car home. Buffy, do you want to come with me, or Giles?"

Frying pan or fire? Thought Buffy. Rock, or hard place? Awkward chat with Watcher, or even-more-awkward chat with friend who'd just seen her naked?

"Actually, I'd like Buffy to travel with me, please," said Giles in a clipped, somehow-even-more-British-than-usual tone of voice. Buffy groaned inwardly.

At least with Cordelia in the car he couldn't say much...could he?

\---

They drove along the road in silence for a few minutes, until Giles made a sort of harumphing sound, making Buffy jump.

"So..." said Giles.

"So," replied Buffy. She was very much declining to speak first. If he wanted to talk, fine. But she wasn't going to be the one to break the ice. 

"You went to a party," said Giles, simply.

"Yes."

"Alone?"

"With Cordelia."

Giles made a non-committal noise and fell silent again.

"What, Giles?" Buffy snapped. "If you've got something to say, just say it."

"Who killed the demon, Buffy?" he asked. She looked away, staring out of the window. Giles continued, "and the boys? Who killed them? Because I know it wasn't Machida. One had been....drained." 

Buffy turned to face him. Her expression told him all he needed to know.

He huffed out a furious laugh. "Spike, of course."

"It's not what you think," said Buffy. 

"Oh no?" said Giles, managing to inject a gallon of scepticism into two simple syllables. "So your vampire lover didn't break into a frat party and murder two young men in cold blood?"

"No!" Buffy exclaimed. "Those 'boys' were drugging girls, chaining them up - feeding them to that snake...thingy. They roofied Cordelia, you can see that for yourself."

"So Spike was just defending the innocent, was he?"

"I...I'm not sure that's exactly what it was. But I do know he let a girl escape. They'd chained her up, he set her free. Then they attacked him..."

"Oh, well let's give him a Nobel peace prize then," Giles shot back. "And when did you have this very enlightening conversation with him? Right after he'd fed? Or after you'd slept with him again? Xander told me what he'd walked in on."

"Giles..."

"Buffy, I..."

"Erm, guys?" Cordelia called from the back seat. "Just thought I should let you know I'm awake. And I can hear you talking about Buffy having sex with a vampire. Which is all kinds of gross, by the way."

Buffy and Giles both span round to look at her. She was sitting up in the back seat, primly. 

"We were just...practicing our lines for a play," said Giles, weakly. He turned back to face the road, and he, Buffy and Cordelia spent the rest of the journey in a chilly, awkward silence.  
  
\---

It was almost 2.30am when Giles pulled up outside Revello Drive, his rust-bucket car clanking and wheezing as it rolled to a halt. He hadn't said a word to Buffy after they'd dropped off Cordelia. Buffy was trying hard to pretend she didn't care about his relentless disapproval, but her throat was tight and dry, and her chest felt all hurty.

She turned and reached for the door handle, but stopped when he broke the long silence with a series of bad-tempered, terse instructions.

"We'll meet at the library at 10 tomorrow. Xander and Willow too. We need to research the demon that injured you. There might be some link between the attack and...your behaviour."

Buffy wheeled to face him. "My behaviour?" she said, her voice chilly.

Giles didn't react, or even look at her.

"10am tomorrow. Be there." He didn't need to add the 'or else.' It hung in the air, unsaid.

Buffy bit back a retort: she could tell there was no point arguing with him. She was exhausted and now, apparently, she needed to be at school in under eight hours - on a Saturday. Talk about excessive punishment.

"Fine," she said, bluntly. She got out of the car, and as soon as she closed the door it sped off. Well, if you could really apply the term 'sped off' to a car limping painfully up the road like an injured deer.

Buffy sighed. Knowing her luck, her mom would still be up and she'd get a telling off from her, too. 

But it was way worse than that. As she approached her front door, an Angel-shaped shadow detached itself from the gloom of a nearby tree and started to move towards her.

Oh you have got to be kidding, Buffy thought. Please, not now.


	16. Chapter 16

"Angel," said Buffy, her voice deliberately flat. It was a statement of fact rather than a greeting. 

He stopped several feet away from her, the harsh, sodium glare of the street lights making his brow look heavier than usual, as if his brood-o-meter had been turned up to the max.

"Buffy, I just...I wanted to apologise," he said, his dark eyes tugging at hers. Puppy dogs clearly had nothing on Angel when he wanted to be forgiven, but Buffy wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily, uh huh, no way, no siree.

"For what, Angel? For stalking me while I was patrolling? Or for telling my best friend about my sex life? Or - oh wait I remember - for telling my Watcher I'd got to third base with a vampire, meaning he now seems to think I'm some kind of deviant? Which one of those things are you planning to apologise for?"

Angel fell silent for a second, running his eyes over her outfit. She felt suddenly very exposed, and shivered, wrapping her arms around her body.

"I don't want to do this right now," she said, firmly. "I'm tired, I'm going inside."

As she walked past him, his hand flashed out and grabbed her wrist. She jerked to a halt, then span around, furious. 

"Get off me," she said. Buffy's voice was a river of ice. Her free hand inched to reach for a stake, but then she realised she was wearing basically nothing. Her outfit was a stake-free zone. 

This is why all dresses should have pockets, she thought.

Angel pulled her closer. He had his back to the light now, and his face was entirely in shadow. His nostrils flared. Buffy felt an electric shock of alarm shoot up her spine and she threw herself backwards, trying to free her arm, to no avail. His grip was like iron. 

"Angel, let me go," she said. He lifted her hand up into the light, turning it back and forth. The bruises that braceleted her wrist were clearly visible to the both of them. 

"Again?" he hissed. "You were with him AGAIN?"

With a huge effort, she managed to wrench her hand free. Fear, anger, exhaustion and frustration whirled in her chest like a firestorm.

"It is none of your business if I was. None. We're not together. You're nothing to me," she spat. 

As soon as the words left her mouth she realised she'd made a mistake, not least because they simply weren't true. She did care for Angel, but she was incredibly sick and tired of people queueing up to confront her. It had been one of the longest days of her life.

He recoiled as if she'd slapped him. His wounded, apologetic, 'please forgive me' eyes flashed tourmaline yellow and with a furious yell he vamped out, shocking them both. Soul or no soul, apparently there was such a thing as 'hell hath no fury like a vampire scorned', thought Buffy dimly, beneath a sharp adrenaline rush of panic.

Her Slayer senses went into overdrive. She turned and fled towards the safety of the house with Angel hot on her heels. Buffy fumbled her key into the front door with a shaking hand, but before she could open it he thumped his hand against the wood, holding it closed. He was right behind her now, his face level with her neck. 

He ran one hand down her arm and she shrank from his touch, cringing away from him. When he finally spoke, his voice was hard-edged and cruel, Angelus waxing as Angel waned. 

"Did you like it, Buffy? Did you enjoy taking him in your mouth, letting his dead seed pour down your throat? Did it get you hot?"

She closed her eyes. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't Angel. There's no way he'd ever say something like that to her. His hand clamped down on her shoulder, hard. He drew closer to her and she shuddered, her limbs seemed to have turned to lead. Deep down, she knew she needed to do something, to fight back, but it it was all too surreal to comprehend.

Then she heard a cocky, familiar voice, and a wave of sheer, utter relief washed over her. 

"Hullo, grandad."

Angel let go of Buffy and turned around, slowly. As soon as he clocked Spike he hissed, then launched himself down the steps towards him like a charging bull. 

Spike side-stepped daintily, moving out of his way like a matador. Angel lost his balance and stumbled before dropping to a roll and leaping back to his feet in a crouching position. He clenched his fists, glowering at the smaller vampire with bile-bright eyes.

Spike's features were still fully human. He stood very still for a second, then reached into his pocket for his cigarettes and tapped one out into his palm. There was something incredibly bold and brave about the gesture that made Buffy's heart leap in her chest. He was like Ian Malcolm in Jurassic Park, staring at the T-Rex, hiding his fear behind shrewd, witty comments. 

Don't move, thought Buffy, hysterically. He can't see you if you don't move. 

"Spike," said Angel, thickly. "I'm going to kill you."

Spike put the cigarette between his lips, then reached into his other pocket for his lighter. 

"Not if I kill you first, mate," he said, casually. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag. "If you ever touch her again, like that, against her will - like a fuckin' pervert - you'll be dust before you know it."

Angel continued to glare at him for a moment - although glare wasn't really the best way to describe the pure hatred that suffused his expression, lips pulled back from his fangs like a snarling dog.

Then he stood up, shook off his game face with what looked to be a supreme effort of will, and looked over at Buffy. 

She was standing with her back pressed tightly against the front door, tears standing out brightly in her tired, shadowed eyes. Angel frowned and he shook his head as if waking from a confusing dream. He groaned and rubbed his face. When he looked up again, all the anger had drained away. He just looked ashamed and anguished.

"Buffy...I'm..."

"Just go, Angel. Please," she said. "You never listen. I told you before, I can't do this, not now. Probably not ever."

He just nodded, pain and remorse twisting his usually stoic features. He took one last look at her, then left, fading into the dark. 

Spike just carried on smoking, completely unflustered, as if he hadn't just had a vicious confrontation with his furious grand-sire.

"You OK, luv?" he said, staying where he was. 

"I think....I need to go to bed," said Buffy.

Spike nodded, puffing out a mouthful of smoke. He dropped the cigarette on the floor, then rubbed it into the ground with his boot. He turned to leave.

"Aren't you coming?" said Buffy, softly.

Spike froze, his back to her. Her eyes rested on the collar of his heavy leather jacket, waiting patiently for him to respond.

"Are you sure?" he said, eventually. He was still looking straight ahead, as if he was addressing the house opposite hers. 

"Yes," she said, simply. 

Spike climbed the steps to the porch. He hesitated for a moment, then gathered her into his arms. She rested her head on his chest, relieved, and drank in the smoke-and-leather smell of him. 

They went inside, eventually. The house was dark and quiet, and Buffy thanked the powers that be for small mercies. Her mom was a heavy sleeper, especially after a long drive, and apparently a vampire confrontation outside her front door wasn't enough to wake her. 

Buffy took Spike's hand and led him upstairs, half expecting to hear an outraged 'what on Earth do you think you're doing, young lady?' as they reached the top. Thankfully, they made it with no parental intervention, which was a miracle given the noise Spike's clomping leather boots made on the creaky landing floorboards.

Buffy closed her bedroom door behind them. 

Spike turned to look at her, his face radiant in the moonlight that streamed through the open blinds, dark brows beneath sculpted pale curls, his soft, full lips half-parted. Buffy felt her stomach swoop and flip. What was this beautiful creature doing in her room? He looked like a fallen angel, a seraphim without wings. 

"C'mere, Slayer," he said, his voice rough and earthy, breaking the illusion. 

He let his jacket fall to the ground. His T-shirt clung to him in all the right places, and his bare arms gleamed as he held them out to her. She fell against him again, suddenly wanting much more than sex, wanting him to hold her, craving intimacy. To her surprise, he seemed to revel in the contact, dropping his head to rest on top of hers. Hmm, a huggy vampire. Who'd have thought it?

Sensing her mood, Spike shuffled them both over to the bed and sat down. Buffy hesitated for a moment, then settled herself on his knee.

She closed her eyes, wrapped both arms around him and put her head on his shoulder. He stroked her back gently, just like he'd done at the frat house. 

"Why did he do that?" said Buffy in a sleepy whisper. "He...scared me."

Spike didn't reply at first, then - after a minute - said "depends if you want the short answer, or the long answer?"

"Um...short?"

"He's an asshole. Always has been. Plenty of men are assholes, even if they do have a soul. He's jealous, bullish and territorial. He's older n' me, used to getting his own way."

"Why am I now thinking I don't want to know the long version?" said Buffy. 

Spike didn't reply.

"You...go back a long way," she said, matter-of-factly. 

"Yeah, you could say that," Spike replied. His tone was guarded and Buffy felt him tense up. His fingers stopped their lovely motion on her lower back, and she made a little grumbling noise, protesting the loss. 

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's maybe save the long version for another day. I'm not in a rush to hear it."

There was another pause, then Spike started to caress her back again. She smiled and wriggled closer to him. 

Spike kicked off his boots and lay back on the bed, pulling her with him in a tight embrace. He looked at the clock: it was late. Well, early. Not long until first light. He couldn't stay. Shouldn't stay...

The Slayer felt warm and heavy in his arms. Her head was on his chest, and his arms were wrapped around her small, slender body. He heard her breathing deepen as she dozed. He kissed the top of her head gently and she responded with a sleepy murmur, snuggling even closer to him. She smelled like musk and lavender, not to mention the very noticeable underlying scent of (extremely excellent, top-quality) sex that had so angered Angel.

Spike was still smiling as he sank into a deep, exhausted, unintended sleep. 

\---

Buffy awoke to the smell of burning. Her mom must have messed up the bacon again. She rolled over, grabbing for her pillow so she could put it over her head to block out the sunlight. Her hand thudded into something hard. A chest. Spike! 

She opened her eyes. Spike was here, in her bed. He was asleep. Also, he was on fire. 

That was a lot to take in first thing in the morning. Buffy leapt out of bed with a squeak of alarm, then began to run back and forth like a panicked rabbit, still half asleep.  
  
The light had crept around the side of the building while they slept, eventually inching its way across the counterpane until finally it had engulfed the vampire's pale, outstretched arm, making it ignite like a roman candle. Buffy flapped, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly for a few seconds until she finally managed to make with the words.

"Spike! Spike!" she yelped, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it. His eyes fluttered open. 

"Mmm, wha'....what's the...oh shit!" he leapt out of bed and started beating at his burning arm with his other, non-burning arm, to little effect.

"Close the bloody blinds!" he bellowed, before dropping and rolling back and forth on her rug, leaving sooty smears that Joyce would look at wonderingly when she came in to vacuum in two days time.

Buffy leapt over her bed, closing the blinds and plunging the room into relative gloom, lit only by the flickering of a burning vampire arm. Spike was still on fire.

"Water - there's water right there...why are you not....throw the fucking water!" Spike shouted, his tone disbelieving and furious.

"Eep!" Buffy chirruped again, grabbing the glass of water on her nightstand and hurling it in his general direction. 

It bounced off his upraised arm and flipped upside down. Most of the water ended up on Spike's face, the rest was just enough to finish putting out his scorched limb - barely. Still kneeling on the rug, Spike ripped off his T-shirt and wrapped it around his charred arm, smothering the remaining flames.

He turned to her, his face thunderous.

"What the hell is wrong with you, you daft bint?" he snapped. "You were running round like a headless chicken - thought you were meant to be a soddin' superhero or something."

"Sorry!" exclaimed Buffy, sitting down heavily on the bed. "I just...never had an on-fire guy in my bed before. Or any guy, flammable or otherwise. It was...a bit of a shock."

Spike's expression softened. He stood up, holding the T-shirt in place, wincing slightly as he moved over to sit beside her.

"Here's a top tip for you, luv. If you're going to make a habit of bedding the undead, don't go leaving the blinds open unless you fancy waking up next to the bloody Human Torch. Well, Vampire Torch."

Buffy looked down at his left hand, it was blackened and raw. She reached towards it, then drew back, worried about hurting him. She looked up at his face, her expression awkward and apologetic. Then realisation clobbered her over the head. She was at home, in her room. With Spike. During the day.

"Oh God, mom!" she said. Had she heard the commotion? What time was it, anyway? 

"Your mum's here?" said Spike, looking anxiously towards the door, as if he expected to see Joyce hack her way through it with an ax, Jack Nicolson-in-the-Shining-style. 

Buffy looked at her alarm clock. 10:01. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's OK, she'll have left for the gallery already." Saturday working was the norm these days - thanks to the larger than life mortgage they'd ended up with after the move. Maybe a three bedroom house with enough room for a small army was slight overkill for just the two of them, in hindsight.

Buffy collapsed back onto the bed with a groan, her hands covering her eyes. She should be relieved that her mom hadn't heard the Three Stooges routine....but something else was still nagging at her. 

10:01, why did that time seem somehow...important?

Her eyes flew open.

"Shit shit shit, I'm late for my own intervention," she cried, leaping up again, hands pressed to her forehead.

"What the fuck are you on about, Slayer?" grumbled Spike, peeling back the T-shirt to inspect the Kentucky-fried damage underneath.

He was moderately pissed. Waking up on fire wasn't exactly his ideal way to start a Saturday, plus now it was broad daylight, meaning he going to be trapped in a very floral bedroom for the next several hours, and he very much doubted either Buffy or her doe-eyed mother kept a stock of blood lying around in case a peckish vampire decided to stay the night. 

Buffy didn't reply, far too consumed by her own panic. She leapt off the bed and started scrabbling around in her closet, pulling out clothes and throwing them over her head onto the bed, hunting for something to wear.

She was still wearing the black mini-dress from the night before, which was now pretty ragged. She bent down to pull fresh underwear out of a drawer and inadvertently flashed her sweet, tanned, peachy ass in his direction. Spike hummed to himself. Maybe there were worse ways to start the day, after all?

He stalked across to her, bare chested, and then wrapped his uninjured right arm around her midriff, pulling her ass tightly against his crotch. He bent to capture her earlobe between his lips, then kissed her neck, grinding his rapidly hardening erection against her bare skin. 

"Nice view, Slayer," he growled. 

She relaxed against against him for an all-too-brief moment, letting her eyes close as he nipped at her shoulder. Then she shook herself, pulling free from his grasp.

"Spike, I can't...I've got to go to school," she said, she turned to face him, pushing him gently until he took a reluctant step backwards. 

"What are you on about? It's a Saturday," he looked irritable again, glaring down at her, then pouted sulkily and sat back down on the bed. 

Seriously, was he, like, 12 when he was turned? Or were guys just super immature in 18-whatever? Buffy sighed.

"My Watcher has demanded I meet him at the school library to discuss my....behaviour." 

"Your...behaviour?" he said. "Meaning...?"

"Meaning you, Spike," said Buffy, turning back to the closet and pulling out a relatively chaste, sleeveless, ivory-coloured cowl neck shirt and a long black skirt. Best to look like Good Buffy today, she thought. Good, well behaved, super responsible, definitely-didn't-let-a-vampire-stay-over-in-her-room-after-letting-him-make-her-come-twice-earlier-that-evening-Buffy.

"Oh, is that right?" he said, his face suddenly sultry, his grumpy expression turning into a far more seductive one.

Buffy paused for a second, then whipped the crumpled black dress over her head. After all, it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before, she thought. Seen, licked, fingered, played with...she felt a little crackle of energy dance across her clit as she remembered what they'd done at the frat house. She blushed despite herself, then quickly shimmied into clean underwear: a very appealing matching set of raspberry lace panties and a push up bra. 

Not something that he wagered she'd usually waste on a library visit, thought Spike. This was for his benefit. His cock stirred, and citrine sparks flashed in his blue eyes. He moved backwards on the bed without taking his eyes off her, enjoying the reverse striptease. He stretched, catlike, then patted the miraculously unsinged mattress beside his prone body.

"Slayer..." his voice was honey over chocolate, pure, luxurious temptation distilled into two simple syllables. Buffy shivered. She was holding her shirt, about to put it on, frozen in place.

"I can't," she whispered. "I have to go."

"I just don't see why you have to run off so quick. You're already late, after all. Thought we could..." he tilted his head, licked his lips and smiled so lasciviously that Buffy could almost feel his mouth on her...no. No time. She had to be Good Buffy. Library Buffy. Demon-researchy Buffy. Spike-research was definitely not on the agenda for today.

"Spike, believe me when I say I am already so deeply into my Watcher's bad books I'm not entirely sure he's not going to send me to some kind of Slayer version of military school, and my friends...well...let's just say I kinda owe them an explanation, given that one of them actually saw me..." she tailed off.

"Saw you what?" he raised an eyebrow. The look he was giving her was somehow an entire action replay of her second orgasm of the night. She could practically see it reflected in his eyes.  
Buffy blushed, hotly.

"You know what," she said. "Now stop distracting me. I don't have time for this." 

Summoning all of her rapidly dwindling reserves of will power, Buffy slipped into the shirt, wishing she'd had time for a shower. She was wet for him again; she could almost feel the heat rising from her increasingly damp red-pink panties. She knew Spike could smell her arousal too, and closed her eyes tightly.

If she didn't look at him, she wouldn't get distracted. She zipped herself into her skirt. 

Seconds later she felt a smooth hand slide underneath it, roaming up her inside thigh before moving to cup her pussy. Spike palmed her from behind, grinding his hand against her satin-and-lace-covered mound.

Buffy gasped.

"Maybe you should make time," he purred, continuing to rub her. She threw her head back in pleasure. He tugged her panties to one side and ran one finger along her soaking wet slit.

"Stop," she whispered, entirely unconvincingly. Her eyes were closed and she was leaning against him, her breath coming in tiny, helpless pants.

Spike grinned. "Make me."

Buffy turned to him, eyes dark with desire. He slid his hand under her skirt again, continuing to stroke her, and she gave up with a defeated moan, cupping his face with both hands and dragging him towards her in a searing kiss. 

Then she came back to her senses, imagining her friends waiting for her, remembering her responsibilities. 

She pulled back reluctantly, feeling a strange sense of deja vu. "No, no, I...have to..."

"Stay," he urged her, his fingers dancing over her hard, swollen clit, making her shudder. "I'm stuck here. The sun's up, in case you hadn't noticed." He lifted his injured arm as a reminder.

Buffy looked at Spike for a moment, then closed the distance between them again and carried on exploring his mouth, arms thrown around his neck. Spike lifted her up and carried her to the bed, then laid her down, moving on top of her. He kissed her neck, almost purring as he lapped at the soft skin. He lifted himself to look at her and words rose unbidden on his lips.

"I knew. I knew the only thing better than killing a Slayer would be f..."

Buffy shoved him roughly. "What?" she said, suddenly ablaze with outrage and righteous indignation. She pushed him out of the way and stood up.

"Is that what this is about? Doing a Slayer?" she said, disgustedly.

Spike rubbed his eyes roughly, then shook his head, as if emerging from a dream. "I don't...I don't know why I said that. I'm sorry. It wasn't...I didn't mean..."

"I'm going, Spike," she said, coldly. "I'm not going to throw you out to get all human torchy again, but find a way to leave as soon as there's, like, a cloud or something." 

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and he reached towards her, wanting to pull her to him and soothe the hurt he'd caused. But she flounced out of the room before he could even get up from the bed. 

"What the fuck was that?" he growled to himself. He flexed and let himself vamp out, snorting in frustration before turning to punch the pillow, her scent rising from it like a slap in the face.

Sliding his hand under the Slayer's skirt? That had been all him, definitely 100% his decision. But then something had taken him over; he'd moved and spoken as if he was acting out some kind of play. And it had been the absolute worst thing he could have said. 

Way to ruin a perfectly good shag opportunity, he thought to himself. Well done, William the Bloody Tactless.


	17. Chapter 17

It was almost 11.30am when Buffy finally slunk into the library, looking dishevelled and upset. Xander and Willow were bent over a giant pile of dusty, leather-bound books that had been heaped onto the table in the middle of the room. Giles tapped his watch theatrically, but swallowed the barbed comment about timekeeping he'd planned to hurl in her direction once he saw how miserable she looked.

"I know, I know," muttered Buffy. "I overslept. Sorry." She dropped her bag, not meeting anyone's gaze, and slid into the seat beside Xander. She tensed, ready for the onslaught of questions and outrage she'd been mentally preparing for on the way over.

But Xander just yawned. "Please tell me you're late because you stopped off to buy coffee and doughnuts, Buffster," he said, before slumping over the book he was reading, pressing his face into the dusty paper.

Buffy smiled, and risked a quick glance at him. "Sorry, was too busy trying to beat the land speed record on the way over here," she replied.

Willow caught her eye and grinned at her, although Buffy could see a hint of worry clouding her otherwise sunny expression. 

"Hey Buffy," she said brightly, indicating the giant grimoire she was poring over. "Just having a hunt for that thing who tried to turn you into a Slayer-kebab the other day." She went back to reading, turning the thick, archaic pages. She looked pale, and Buffy felt a stab of guilt: she hadn't thought to call Willow to check she'd got home safely after the whole 'Spike trying to bite her' thing. 

Before she could ask Will if she was ok, Miss Calendar's head appeared around the corner of Giles' office. "Hey Buffy," she said, "how are you doing? Heard you had a run in with a demon?"

Buffy flushed brightly. Giles looked at her, then back at Miss Calendar. "Er, she means the one that injured you," he explained. "Not Spike. Although I did have to fill her in about that too."

Buffy's blush deepened until she was practically purple, Jenny glared at Giles. "Rupert," she hissed. Giles looked at her, then at Buffy, feeling outnumbered and a bit helpless. He wasn't entirely sure what arcane female code he'd breached this time, so he just fell back to his default setting and started to polish his already incredibly clean glasses.

"Oh great, is there anyone in Sunnydale who doesn't know?" said Buffy. "Did you send a memo to the principal as well?" She folded her arms.

"Jenny's here to help, Buffy," said her Watcher. His tone was much gentler than it had been the night before. "She also...pointed out to me that I'd...not dealt with all of this as well as I probably should have. I think I owe you an apology."

He put his glasses back on and looked at her with a slightly hang-dog expression. Buffy's mouth fell open. She was expecting fire, brimstone, possibly a stint locked in the book cage. Not this.

Giles looked at Miss Calendar, beseechingly. She closed her eyes and sighed.

"Buffy, what he's trying to say is that - as a middle-aged British man - he is completely inept when it comes to dealing with anything to do with intense emotions, especially where someone he cares about is concerned. He shouldn't have been so heavy-handed with you, he knows that's a surefire way to push you away and he'll try not to do it again. Does that sum it up?" she turned to Giles. He nodded, looking abashed. 

"Er, yeah. I second that," said Xander. "Look, I don't get it either - at all - but we're here for you, Buff. Always will be. Even if you are...doing..." he tailed off. "Um."

"Spike?" she said, with a 'well someone had to say it' half-smile. Now it was Xander's turn to blush.

She sighed. "Look guys, whatever was going on, I think it's probably over now. He was a total ass this mor....er."

"This morning?" Giles thundered. Miss Calendar cleared her throat, her eyes flashing a warning. He raised his hands and sat down heavily in a nearby chair, sucking in a very deep breath.

"Buffy, you were with him after he'd...tried to kill me?" Willow looked pained. 

"Will, I didn't go looking for him, I promise. Cordelia convinced me to go to a party, he just happened to be there. Well, outside. Lurking."

"And then you took him home?" said Will. Buffy didn't have to search hard to find the reproach in her tone.

"Um, not exactly," Buffy wasn't sure how much Xander had told her about the frat house boinking, so she elected to miss that part of the story out. 

"After Giles dropped me off at home, Angel confronted me. He was pretty mad about...stuff," her voice wavered, and she looked around at her friends, wondering how much to tell them.

Miss Calendar's ears pricked up as soon as Buffy mentioned the souled vampire. She moved closer to the Slayer, leaning on the information desk. Giles just looked concerned.

"Are you OK? Did he harm you in any way?" said her Watcher.

Buffy shook her head, then closed her eyes. 

"No, but he...lost it. I'm not sure what would have happened if Spike hadn't shown up and..." she trailed off.

"Spike protected you?" said Miss Calendar. Buffy nodded. 

"Because he wanted to be the one to kill you?" Giles asked. Buffy shook her head. 

"No, this time it was, like he cared about me. He told Angel he'd kill him if he touched me again." Buffy looked around the room, a bright pink spot of discomfort appearing high on both cheeks. "Angel was being a bit...non-consenty." Willow frowned and reached over the table, taking her hand. Buffy squeezed it gratefully. 

Miss Calendar started to walk around the room, brow furrowed. 

"I'm not saying you're not a great catch, Buffy," she said. "But this...solicitousness...I mean, it goes against everything we know about William the Bloody. He showed up in Sunnydale intending to play volleyball with your severed head, now he's protecting you? Not to mention..." she glanced over at Giles, who was looking awkwardly at the ceiling again.

"...the other stuff," she finished, vaguely, sparing his delicate British sensibilities.

"So let me get this straight," said Xander. "Angel's being bad and Spike's being...good? Are we sure there hasn't been some kind of switcheroo here? Some kind of spell that swapped their personalities?"

Buffy frowned. "No, I don't think so," she said. "I think Angel was just...jealous."

Willow nodded vigorously. "Yeah, in the Bronze he was all glowery and bad tempered, but definitely not in a personality swap kind of way. He was still very Angel-like."

"And Spike...well, he's definitely not been behaving like Angel," said Buffy, biting her lip. No one knew quite what to say to that. 

"What about the demon that did the whole slice-n-dice routine on Buffy's midsection," asked Xander. "Any leads on that?" 

Giles walked across to a separate, smaller pile of books. "A few possibilities. Buffy, could you come over here for a minute and take a look at these?"

He started opening each one, laying them out on the information desk. Buffy sidled over to him cautiously, still feeling a bit unsure after their horrible row yesterday. She looked at each of the pictures in turn. 

"No, this one's not spikey enough. This one's way too small. This one...nope, not it either," she moved on to the fourth volume, leaning in closer for another look. Her eyes lit up and she jabbed the delicate tissue paper that covered the hand-drawn, intricate illustration, making Giles wince.

"Hey, this is it!" she smiled. "Mr-Pointy-Demon himself, all grey and wiggy-looking. Sooo, what is it?" She looked up at Giles. He reached past her and picked up the slim bestiary. It looked very old, its pages covered in tea-brown stains that she made a mental note not to examine too closely.

"it's called Xuszoggul, apparently," said her Watcher, peering at it intently. "Never heard of this particular species, if indeed it is a species at all. It's certainly a rare breed."

"Even rarer now, since I killed it," said a voice from the doorway. Everyone's heads snapped up in unison. Spike was lounging casually against the library doorway, and would have looked a lot more stylish and nonchalant if he wasn't holding a smoking blanket. He saw them looking and dropped it, standing up straight with a tilt of his chin as if daring someone to comment. 

Willow jumped out of her chair and went to hide behind Xander.

"Relax, Red, I'm not here for brunch," said Spike. 

"Why are you here?" said Buffy, her tone sharper and more bitter than she'd intended. 

Spike started to move in her direction, but she backed away. Giles stepped in front of her. 

"You're not welcome here, vampire," he said, softly. He reached behind the desk, pulling out a vial of holy water and a cross. 

"Relax," said Spike, raising both hands. "Not here to make trouble for any of you. Or the Slayer. Jus' reckoned that if you're trying to get to the bottom of what's going on, might be helpful for me to be part of the discussion. Also I was bored."

Buffy darted forward and grabbed his elbow, pulling him out of the library and into the hallway. She pushed him roughly against the wall. 

Spike smirked, "hey, careful love. Don't bruise the leather."

Seeing him here, in the school, brought everything that happened on parent/teacher night flooding back. His casual savagery, the deaths he'd been responsible for. But mainly, she was angry about the comments he made in her bedroom earlier. And above all, she was furious that those comments were the thing she was most angry about, instead of all the other stuff. 

She felt a fuse blow.

"I told you to make yourself scarce. How the hell does that translate to 'follow me to the awkward meeting at a location where you killed a bunch of innocent people three days ago'?"

Spike opened his mouth to speak, but she talked over him, frustration spilling over, her voice rising.

"You threw me against a wall that night. You said you'd make it quick, that it wouldn't hurt a bit. Well guess what, Spike...what you said earlier - in my room - that hurt. And I don't know why. And that makes me really. Really. MAD."

She swung her fist at his infuriating face as she shouted that last word. His arm snapped up, lightning fast, and caught her hand in his. They were inches away from each other. Buffy was breathing hard. Spike held onto her wrist, one thumb gently tracing the fading bruises there. Buffy glared into his azure eyes, he stared back into her mossy, dark green ones. Spike closed his eyes and breathed her in.

Buffy filled his senses, Christ, he could still smell himself on her, he thought, wonderingly. His cock swelled and grew in his jeans. He'd forgotten she hadn't showered that morning...he moaned softly and leaned down, lightly brushing her lips with his. She didn't pull away...

"Ahem," said Giles. Spike and Buffy turned to look at him, both flinching slightly. Spike let go of her clenched fist and thrust his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders, reverting to his 'naughty schoolboy caught into the act' stance. So much for the Big Bad, Buffy thought with a snort. 

Miss Calendar was standing behind Giles, peering at the scene in the corridor, a smile playing on her lips as she saw the look of embarrassment on both of their faces.

"Maybe you should both come back inside," she said, amused. "I think we might have a bit more information about what's been going on."

\-----

Buffy and Spike looked around warily as they were ushered back into the library. The vampire sauntered up the steps to the left of the table and leaned on the mezzanine railing, looking down at Willow and Xander who nervously inched their chairs backwards, away from him. Buffy took up position beside the book cage, looking almost as tense as her friends.

"So what is it," she said. "What have you found out?"

Miss Calendar and Giles exchanged glances. She raised an eyebrow and looked at the Watcher pointedly, Giles frowned and shook his head. "You're the one who found the information on the...World Wide Web, Jenny. I think you're better placed to explain it," he said. 

"Fine," she said, in a voice that actually meant 'not fine'. "But one day you're going to have to learn to use a computer, Rupert, and actually read things that have been printed out less than 200 years ago."

She sat down at the table directly beneath Spike, spreading a sheaf of dot matrix paperwork in front of her. The vampire leaned forward, intrigued. He looked like a hawk perched on a branch, hunting for mice. Giles shuddered. 

"When we said the Xuszoggul was rare, that didn't really cover it," Miss Calendar explained in her soft, clear voice. "It's not just rare, it shouldn't exist. Not here."

"What do you mean?" said Buffy, moving towards her. She picked up one of the sheets of paper, only to find it was covered in numbers - or what looked like numbers. Some were...weird. Like calculations made in an alien script.

"Buffy, do you know what I mean by alternate timelines?" said Jenny. 

Buffy scrunched up her face. "Like...Sliding Doors?" she asked. The movie was still pretty fresh in her mind. She'd gone to see it with Will and Xander a couple of months earlier. Xander had said Gwyneth Paltrow couldn't act her way out of a paper bag, made jokes throughout the whole film - including the sad bits - and when pressed about what key messages he'd taken from the film on their way home, he'd said 'basically it just means that if you miss a train you get a new haircut and then you die."

"Um, yeah, I guess so," said Jenny. "Well, so there are different timelines, which means there are slightly different versions of you. Some minutely different, others more so, depending on choices you've made, people you've interacted with, that kind of thing. Then on top of that you have the past, present and future. So each timeline has its own thread, which branches off infinitely. And all of these threads form our reality. Or our universe, if you want to look at it like that."

Giles piped in: "think of it like a big ball of yarn, all tangled together, placed on a table. You and Spike - and all of us, past, present, future and alternative versions of ourselves - are all part of this ball."

"But not the Xuszoggul," said Ms Calendar, gravely.

"No," said Giles. "The Xuszoggul...is outside the ball. Hell, it's not even from another ball on the same table. It's from an entirely different plane of existence." Giles had started to pace around the room.

"Wait, what's a plane of existence?" said Xander. "Is a plane of existence one of those other balls on the table that isn't our ball?"

"No, the other balls on our table are alternate realities, or other universes, similar to our own", explained Miss Calendar. "They have the same physical rules and laws of nature. Or similar ones, anyway." 

"And that isn't the same thing as different timelines?" asked Willow. Smart as she was, even she was starting to get a headache.

"No," said Giles. "Different timelines are all contained inside our own ball. Alternate realities are different balls that share our table. Other planes of existence are, well, think of another plane as - another table entirely. Covered in very weird balls. Balls that have completely different rules. Balls that you might not even recognise as anything close to reality at all." 

He really needed to stop saying balls, he thought.

"Is a plane of existence the same as a dimension?" Willow said, clearly attempting to get a gold star in the most complicated conversation of all time olympics. 

"Sometimes, sometimes not," said Giles, unhelpfully. "It's..."

"So how did the Thing From The Other Table Entirely get here, then?" said Spike, interrupting Giles, making them all jump. They'd almost forgotten he was there, he was so predator-still and unbreathing. "And what the fuck has it got to do with me, or Buffy?"

"Well, that's the big question," said Jenny, flashing a bright smile at him. Oh great, thought Willow, the vampire is a teacher's pet.

Miss Calendar shuffled the papers around, pulling out one that seemed to show a complex ritual: an intricate mass of interlocking, looping lines made from those unsettling number-like symbols, some of which seemed to twist and turn back onto themselves like a moebius strip, so when you tried to follow them your eyes crossed and you felt like you were trying to decipher a magic eye painting with a hangover. It was seriously creepy, in other words.

"It can't have gotten here naturally," she explained. "It would have had to have been summoned, but the summoning spell itself is one of immense power. Few people alive would even dare to attempt it. The ritual effectively tears a hole, not just in our universe, but through the void between the planes - it's almost impossible, and incredibly dangerous." She sounded either awed or afraid, it was hard to tell.

Willow picked up the diagram of the ritual, her eyes bright and interested, turning it over in her hands. 

"Right, fine, OK," said Spike, impatiently. "So some incredibly powerful witch, warlock or demon - delete as applicable - used some kind of giant magical drill to poke a hole that this eldritch hedgehog from the arse end of some other - whatever - could clamber through. Which it promptly did. So - I'll ask again - what the fuck has it got to do with what's going on with me and the Slayer?"

"I have to agree with Spike," said Buffy, grudgingly. "I get that Mr Pointy Demon was extra weird and creepy, even by Sunnydale standards. But what has it got to do with what Giles would no doubt describe as 'my recent behaviour'?" she said, rounding the sentence off with a pretty decent impression of her Watcher's arch and precise way of speaking. 

He scowled, muttering "I do not sound like that."

"The Xuszoggul wasn't meant to be in our reality," huffed Giles. "It's a huge anomaly, an offence to nature, a piece of grit that our universe wants to get rid of, any way it can. On top of that, it seems to have some kind of ability to destabilise the timelines of anyone who comes near it or touches it. If that happens, you...come loose. Your personalities - what makes you, you - detach from the focal point of whatever timeline you're currently inhabiting." 

Noticing Buffy's next-level confusion, Miss Calendar stepped in.

"You don't disappear, or physically move in time," she said." But you might end up reenacting events from your own future without knowing it. Or act out elements from other, alternate timelines that aren't too different from your own - potential futures, I guess would be a way to describe it." She shrugged, admitting she'd reached the end of her internet-fuelled knowledge. 

"The future?" said Buffy, looking puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Spike was quicker on the uptake. 

"Wait, are you trying to tell me that me and the Slayer are - involved - in the future? And that's why we..." he tailed off, deciding that it was far too early in the day to utter a phrase like 'can't stop groping each other like wild animals'. 

Buffy's eyes were wide, her mouth a squished oval of shock. "No, no way. NO. How would that even happen?"

"Well Buff, you two lovebirds do seem to have just a tiny bit of...compatibility going on. Based on what I've seen," said Xander. Buffy turned the full force of her glare on him and he slumped down in his seat, pulling the neck of his sweater up and over his mouth, swivelling his chair away from her.

"That's...just..." Buffy let out a frustrated hiss of air, not daring to glance over at the vampire, who she could just tell was looking very pleased with himself. She sensed serious smugness coming from that direction. "OK fine, attraction. I find him attractive. I am attracted to him. I can't exactly make a secret of that. He's good-looking. I thought that when I first saw him, before I realised he was planning to kill me."

Spike grinned, broadly, and puffed out his chest. "Yep, still got it," he crowed. "Not bad for 126-ish. You could learn a thing or two, boys," he said, nodding imperiously to Giles and Xander.

Buffy's face burned. "Shut up Spike," she snapped. He fell silent, but she could see him continuing to preen like a peacock out of the corner of her eye. 

"So, what do we do to stop it? How do I go back to being non timeline-disrupty Buffy?" she asked.

There was a sharp tingle behind her eyes as her Slayer senses gave her an 'angry vampire nearby' prod. She looked over at Spike, and was surprised to see the cocky smile fall from his lips, his eyes narrowing, suddenly guarded. 

If he was anyone else, Buffy might have thought she'd hurt his feelings.


	18. Chapter 18

_My fate cries out_

_And makes each petty artery in this body_

_As hardy as the Nemean lion’s nerve._

_S_ _till am I called._ \- Hamlet

\---  
  
Spike slunk out of the library for a smoke while the Scoobies gathered around to cheerfully discuss how to make Buffy stop wanting to sleep with him.

None of them even glanced in his direction when he left - not even the Slayer.

He stamped along the hallway, glowering at the stupid 'safe sex' posters lining the walls, pausing to kick a trash can so hard it crashed to the floor several feet away.  
  
His moody walk took him all the way to the empty, darkened gym, and he pushed the swinging doors open with both hands, making them ricochet against the walls, almost hitting him in the face as they rebounded. He swore, then walked up to the top of the bleachers before sitting down and angrily pulling out his packet of smokes.

Unlike Buffy, he hadn't been surprised when the dark-haired woman - who was clearly Romani, the lot of them were bloody blind if they couldn't see that - said that their handsy behaviour was due to the the fact they were destined to become some sort of item in the future.  
  
He'd felt it deep in his bones, in the very marrow and fibre of his being, ever since he'd given in to his impulse to kiss her, touch her and do incredibly creative things with her various erogenous zones. It felt like finally returning home, and now he'd tuned into that feeling he wasn't sure he could shut it off again.  
  
The Slayer, on the other hand...clearly, not so much. He punched the bench he was sitting on, then yelped in pain: he'd split the knuckles on his burned hand. He dangled his cigarette from his uninjured fingers, flicking ash onto the floor, looking almost as moody as Angel. He was still swearing under his breath when he sensed a ripple in the air, then after another nanosecond, he caught her musky, sensual scent.

"You're not supposed to smoke in here, you know," said Buffy. He looked down at the entrance to the gym. She was standing in the doorway with her arms folded, head to one side, looking more like a teacher than a student.  
  
She looked exhausted, and he had to fight an immediate urge to go over to her and take her in his arms.  
  
"You're also not supposed to kick trash cans so hard they end up with a hole in the middle of them," she added. "Care to explain that? Are you PMS-ing pretty hard, or what?"  
  
Spike didn't reply. He looked away, sucking in another lungful of smoke.  
  
"Spill it, Spike. I'm a vampire slayer, not a mind-reader."  
  
He glared at her, then threw the cigarette on the floor and stamped on it. The sound echoed around the empty space, making Buffy jump. Spike got to his feet, duster swirling around his legs, and walked down the stairway towards her, stopping halfway down.  
  
"So. Have they figured it out yet?" he said, his eyes were blue slits carved into suddenly emotionless marble. His face had closed against her, his anger replaced by watchfulness and mistrust.  
  
"Figured what out?" said Buffy, knowing full well what he meant.  
  
"How to fix you," Spike replied.  
  
"You mean, how to fix us?" she replied, as guarded as him, giving nothing away.  
  
Spike just shook his head, continuing to hold her gaze. She shivered.  
  
"I don't exactly feel like I'm broken, pet," he said, softly. "Well, not where you're concerned, anyway."  
  
Buffy's mask slipped, her eyes widened in surprise and - was that recognition and agreement that Spike glimpsed in their depths, or just wishful thinking on his part?  
  
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Spike whispered her name, overcome with emotion, then started to walk towards her again. She didn't move or back away. He stopped again at the foot of the stairs. Buffy took a short, sharp breath.  
  
"Spike..." she started to say, but then he was on her, vampire fast, his mouth crashing into hers, kissing her desperately, wanting to reverse time and take back the stupid thing he'd said in her room earlier and the more recent sight of her casually, cheerfully discussing how to stop herself wanting him.  
  
She froze for a second, then brought her arms up, pressing herself against his hard chest, opening her mouth and letting him run his tongue along the underside of her top lip.  
  
They both moaned. Buffy was the first to break the kiss and pull back.  
  
"Spike, this...this isn't right. It's not real."  
  
He gripped her shoulders, tightly, almost painfully. He wanted to shake her. "For fuck sake, Buffy," he said, his voice pained and angry. "Didn't you hear them? This is as real as it gets. Me n' you...it's written in the bloody stars, love."  
  
"But Miss Calendar explained it to me, after you'd gone. She said it's not time, yet. We're not ready, either of us." She ran her hands down his leather-clad arms before taking his cool, dry hands in her own. Squeezing them, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him again, lightly, placatingly.  
  
"She sent me to get you. She wants to do a spell...well...more a sort of fortune telling really. She wants to try and find out what's supposed to happen to us, and when. She thinks it'll help make sense of it all."  
  
Spike snorted. Gypsy, definitely. Called it.  
  
"And what if I say no?" he said. "What if I say that I decide what happens based on how I feel in the here n' now? What if I tell you that I'm my own man and I make my own bloody fate?"  
  
Buffy tried to speak, but he dropped her hands with an angry shake of his head. He turned away from her, walking half way across the gym and back in his agitation. Once she was back in earshot again, he continued to rant.  
  
"I'm just...me, not some echo of a future self who might not even exist. Not anymore, anyway. Not after what we've already done to change things between us. I don't want to give this up, Buffy," he said, hoarsely, his beautiful blue eyes bright with pain. "Do you?"  
  
Her heart ached at the sight of him. She took the distressed vampire in her arms, holding him as tightly as she could. She pressed her face into his chest, fighting back her own tears. His arms came up to encircle her and they just stood together in the gloomy, cavern-like gymnasium for several minutes, holding onto each other for dear life.

Eventually, Spike heard her mutter a barely-audible "no". He kissed the top of her head.

\---

He agreed to the fortune-telling anyway, of course, because Buffy asked him to. And who was he to refuse his girl anything she wanted? Oh yeah, he'd got it bad, alright.

They sat opposite each other in the library, both looking equally apprehensive. Their hands were stretched towards each other, their fingers interlaced.  
  
Miss Calendar sat at the head of the table, holding a black velvet bag. Black and red candles had been lit in a semi-circle around all three of them. Xander, Willow and Giles were watching from the corner, beside the book cage, and Willow was leaning forward in feverish, bright-eyed excitement - she didn't want to miss a second of the ritual.  
  
Jenny upended the velvet bag, throwing 13 carved ivory tokens onto the table: witches' runes. They fell onto a complex sigil that the computer science teacher had drawn on the surface of the table, using ash from burned bones.   
  
One of the tokens had a closed eye etched onto it. As it hit the wooden surface, it cracked open, and bright light seeped from between the hand-drawn lashes. Once it was fully ajar, it looked like a hole that had been cut into the heart of a supernova. Spike edged away from the beam of light, nervously.  
  
"Don't worry, it can't hurt you," said Miss Calendar. "It's a púca, not the sun."

"A what now?" asked Buffy, also looking worried.  
  
"A sort of nature spirit," said Miss Calendar, then shushed them both and began to sing in a strange, musical language.  
  
The light emerging from the eye token broadened into an impossibly bright inverted cone that stretched to the ceiling. Spike could see something moving inside the golden depths - at first it was a man, then a goat, then, finally, a coal-black horse with glowing golden eyes.  
  
Miss Calendar reached into a pot beside her and threw a handful of peat dust into the light. The creature blinked.  
  
"Mur ann mar sin a thà ’s ann mar so a bhitheas," chanted Jenny. The creature hummed and then disappeared. The cone dissolved into particles of golden light, which moved to swirl above Spike's head, beginning to form indistinct shapes. Buffy gripped Spike's hands more tightly.  
  
"Is this a scrying?" Willow whispered to Giles. He shook his head.  
  
"More of a summoning," he said. "The púca- well it goes by many names. But it's a sort of guide. Tricky things to work with, but Jenny seems to have the measure of it."  
  
An inhuman voice sussurated out of the glowing cloud above Spike's head: "Tha e fo mhoran duilichinn." Jenny frowned.  
  
"What did it say?" asked Willow. "Um, well my Gaelic isn't what it was but...'he is much grieved', I think," answered Giles in a stage whisper.  
  
Miss Calendar continued her chant, and Giles continued to translate each phrase in a low voice as she spoke. She picked up the bone tokens, then threw them down again, forming a new pattern.  
  
_Tha fhagail fhein air gach duine._  
  
"Everyone has his own destiny."   
  
_Am beò is am marbh._  
  
"The quick and the dead."  
  
_De’s breith air mo bhruadar._  
  
"From birth to death."   
  
_A’ breith air a cheile._  
  
"Seizing each other."   
  
_A’ bagairt sgainidh_  
  
"Threatening to burst."   
  
_A’ sasachadh na feola_  
  
"Satisfying the flesh...oh my..."   
  
_Thainig e gun fhuireachadh._  
  
"I'm...not translating that one."   
  
The golden light was undulating over both Spike and Buffy now, little tendrils occasionally dipping down to touch their heads. They each had their eyes closed. Buffy's cheeks were flushed and pink, and Spike moaned from time to time.  
  
After a few minutes, the static-like particles in the cloud above them cleared, and images started to rush past - too fast to see, at first, but after a while they slowed enough so the watching teens and adults could see that it was Buffy and Spike, flitting between different time periods, different outfits, different looks.  
  
One moment they were fighting side by side in a cemetery, comrades-in-arms. The next, they saw Spike in vamp-face throwing Buffy across a warehouse. The playback slowed. There was Buffy again, looking slightly older now, her hair long and golden. They were in an abandoned building. Spike seemed to be...lifting her up. Buffy's mouth formed an 'o' of surprise as he entered her, and Spike looked astounded and awe-struck.  
  
Giles and Willow both blushed and looked down at the floor. Xander pretended to, but kept one eye on the R-rated magic show.  
  
After that, a hundred different naked Spikes and Buffys sped past, more and more quickly, until it was all just a long blur. The golden cloud grew and expanded, then suddenly spiralled down over Miss Calendar and entered her eyes, nose and ears as if she was drawing it in.  
  
Her eyes flashed golden for a moment, then she slumped forward over the table. Xander tried to go over to help her, but Giles held his arm, shaking his head.  
  
"It's finished the analysis. It's entered her mind to deliver the information. She'll be fine in a moment...I hope."  
  
True to his word, after a minute the coiling light billowed out of her various orifices again. It reared up, briefly, taking the shape of a horse, before disappearing back into the eye rune with a final, amused statement in Gaelic.  
  
"What did it say?" asked Willow.  
  
"Er...'that was fun', I think," Giles answered.  
  
Jenny groaned, and Giles walked over to her, kneeling beside her solicitously and taking her hand. Buffy and Spike began to stir as well, struggling back up into wakefulness. Both of them looked gritty and cross, as if they'd been suddenly wakened from a particularly enjoyable dream.  
  
"Miss Calendar, are you alright?" asked Willow, crossing the room to stand beside her, reaching out a hand to stroke the witch runes.  
  
"Y..yes," said the dark-haired teacher, pushing herself upright. She rubbed her face, then lowered her hands and glared at Buffy and Spike.  
  
"You are both...so dirty," she scolded. "Every single damned version of the pair of you - Christ. There were things I saw in there that I can't even spell. I need a drink."  
  
Buffy blushed hotly, and Spike just coughed and stared at a spot of damp on the far wall. They both let go of each others' hands.  
  
\---  
  
After a pretty large glass of the brandy Giles kept in his desk drawer, Miss Calendar was finally recovered enough to explain to them all what she'd seen in the 'fortune telling' session.  
  
She took a deep breath. "So," she started. "I'm going to sum this up as best as I possibly can."  
  
Spike leaned forward in his chair, hanging on her words. Buffy stayed where she was, standing just behind him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder, stroking him imperceptibly. He loved the feeling of her warm hand on his knotted muscles. He wanted her to knead at his flesh like a sleepy cat...then he'd flip her over, push her back onto the bed, cover her with...  
  
"Spike," snapped Giles. "Are you listening?"  
  
"Er, yeah," said the vampire, looking a bit dazed. The two lovebirds hadn't exactly experienced everything that had gone on in that cloud that had hovered over their heads, but they'd felt the associated pleasure - the sensations of seemingly endless types of fucking, fast and slow, in a vast array of settings. Not to mention the hot adrenaline rush of whaling on each other in infinite pre-relationship fights. It had left them both a bit distracted.  
  
"As I was saying," said Jenny, "you both share a strong, intense bond. A bond that - and this is the 'multiple realities for dummies' abridged version - can cross universes."  
  
"Like...soulmates?" said Xander, disbelievingly.  
  
"No," said Miss Calendar. "Most of the time he doesn't have a soul. This is a bit different. It's not always romantic love that draws them together, at least not at first. In some timelines, he's her mentor. In others, an enemy consort. In a few, he's her teacher. In many others, a nemesis, but one who changes and comes to fight by her side as a champion. I think the key thing you need to take from this is that they do always...come together. Unless one of them gets killed first. That happens quite a lot."   
  
She let the bombshell she'd dropped hang in the air for a moment, giving them time to absorb the information.  
  
"So...what about our own future? This timeline?" asked Buffy. "What's going to happen to us?"  
  
Miss Calendar shook her head. "It's impossible to say for sure. Lovers, most certainly - that's a given. But there was darkness there, too. Things to be overcome. Trials, some of them painful. Betrayal, in several forms. Death, at one point - though I'm not sure whose. From what I could figure out - and bear in mind it was like trying to find a piece of string in a city-sized bowl of spaghetti - in this timeline it takes you over ten years to move past all the barriers and form a real, equal relationship. And you're simply not those people yet."  
  
She shrugged, as if immune to the absolute devastation she'd just heaped on Spike.  
  
He shot to his feet, all pretence at coolness flying out of the window.

"Well, that's not true anymore, is it?" he glared down at the teacher, who stared up at him dispassionately and calmly. Spike ran his hands through his hair. "We've already changed that future in at least a dozen ways since the Xu-whatever demon showed up and threw a spanner in the works. Plus there's no way I'm waiting a bloody decade until..." he huffed out an unneeded breath in exasperation.

Willow and Xander looked at Spike, then at each other. "Guess the vamp's caught feelings," said Xander, glibly.  
  
Spike growled at him, a tearing noise that shot straight to Xander's prehensile hindbrain and sent the monkey he used to be scurrying up its tree in terror. He yelped, and tried to hide behind Giles.  
  
"Fuck this," said Spike, "I'm getting out of here." He pulled on his leather duster. Buffy reached out to take hold of his arm, her expression strained, but he shook her off.  
  
"Sorry love, I need time to think. Want to be on my own for a bit. Should never have let this bloody gypsy do a spell on me, I know well enough how that kind of thing can end. Well, Angel certainly does, anyway." He turned to Jenny, switching to Romani: "Si khohaimo may pachivalo sar o chachimo."

The colour drained from Miss Calendar's face. She didn't reply, instead she just stared at him, shell-shocked. He looked at her knowingly for a moment. "Kalderash, yeah? Thought so," he said, then grabbed his blanket from the floor where he'd chucked it and left, leaving the flustered teacher to do some serious backtracking and explaining.  
  
Eventually Buffy, Xander and Willow made their excuses and left Giles and Miss Calendar to it; they all needed to head home so that they could try and salvage a small portion of the weekend.  
  
It was almost Halloween, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to any native Gaelic speakers. I do live in Scotland but don't speak Gaelic myself. I did the best I could! Likewise Romani: the phrase Spike says to Jenny at the end of the chapter means (I think) "there are lies more believable than truth."


	19. Chapter 19

Buffy was uncharacteristically subdued as she, Xander and Willow pushed open the door of the new Halloween store. 

The bright California sun streaming through the dusty windows really didn't match the Slayer's black mood. She'd waited by her window most of the night on Saturday, hoping Spike might make an appearance after the disappearing act he'd pulled at the library, but he didn't show. 

Eventually she'd fallen asleep on top of her bed, fully clothed, and woke feeling disappointed, gritty and irritable, her jeans nipping her waist and her bra strap practically cutting off circulation to her right arm.

She'd carried her bad mood all the way through Sunday, which was also a Spike-free zone, even though she made a point of patrolling around all of the places she'd ever encountered him.

Angel was keeping his distance too, for obvious reasons. She hadn't seen him since their confrontation after the frat party, and she wasn't too sorry about that. She knew he cared about her, but she wasn't sure what she'd say to him, especially given the seriously weird and scary vibes he ended up putting out that night. Buffy decided to file the whole subject under 'avoid dealing for as long as possible' in her mental filing cabinet. There were quite a lot of things in that category.

Monday dawned after yet another night of fitful, fully-clothed sleep, haunted by dreams of Spike. Most of them had been enjoyably hot and heavy, but some weirder ones involved finding him in a basement, only to have him repeatedly disappear down dark, narrow corridors, or into cracks beneath the Earth.

Buffy dragged her exhausted ass to school, relieved that she was approaching the one night a year the demons took a vacation - she felt completely beat and had literally zero inclination to do anything for the foreseeable. So of course Principal Snyder decided that she had to play nursemaid to a bunch of little kids and take them trick or treating. 

Now, here she was in a crowded costume store, looking for a last-minute outfit with Xander and Willow, who'd also been too slow to avoid being press-ganged into babysitting duty. 

She sighed. 

"What are you so sore about, Buff?" asked Xander. He'd already found his low-budget solution: a plastic gun that he was going to accessorise with army fatigues he already owned, and a couple of dog tags. It was so much easier being a guy.

"Nothing, I'm just tired," replied the Slayer. "Halloween's supposed to be the one night a year I can take off, now I'm going to have to drag my seriously exhausted self around the neighbourhood with a bunch of tiny sugar junkies. No fair." 

She drifted aimlessly around the various racks, fingering various costumes with a distracted expression on her face.

Usually she'd find the prospect of dressing up way more fun, but her heart just wasn't in it. She didn't want to admit it to her friends (or even to herself, really) but she was pining for Spike. Had he left Sunnydale for good? He'd said he wanted to be on his own for a 'bit'. What did 'bit' mean? Was a 'bit' a week, a month...a year?

"Hey, Earth to Buffy," said Willow, taking her arm. "C'mon, let's just grab something and go get ready. We'll still be finished by six, we could all hang out after that, watch spooky movies and pretend absolutely nothing weird is going on in your life."

"Sounds good, Will," said Buffy, with a grateful smile. Xander opened his mouth to speak, but Buffy just brushed past him, her eyes lighting up. 

"Oooh, pretty!" she said, a sudden, 100 watt smile eclipsing her earlier moodiness. 

Xander turned to look in the direction she was headed - and saw her making a beeline for an intricate, 1700s-style red dress with a bustle, low neckline, tight bodice and trailing lace sleeves. It was a world away from the other, cheaper costumes in the shop, and it drew the Slayer like a moth to a flame. 

Buffy stroked the satin material wonderingly. It was so beautiful. She'd never worn a gown like that - in fact, dresses were usually off the radar for her entirely, as they were pretty impractical when it came to the slayage. But after wearing that cute, sexy little black number the other evening (and seeing the effect it had on a certain blonde vampire), she had a new appreciation of all things excessively girly - and low cut. Spike was clearly a fan of boobs. She caught herself wondering what he'd make of it, but clamped that thought down again as quickly as she could. 

After all, she didn't know if she'd ever see him again.

She turned away from the gorgeous dress with a sigh, only to find her path blocked by a tall, slightly predatory-looking man who she guessed, rightly, must be the owner of the shop.

"Don't you like it?" he asked.

"Oh, no I do, it's so beautiful, but..."

"Here, let me," said the man.

He took the dress off the mannequin and encouraged Buffy to face the mirror, then held it up in front of her.

"There. My. Meet the hidden princess. I think we found a match. Don't you?"

"Oh, uh, I-I'm sorry. There's no way I could ever afford this. I don't have fantabulous princess gown money."

"Oh, nonsense. I feel quite moved to make you a deal you can't refuse."

Buffy looked back at her reflection, and smiled dreamily. 

\---

The scent of blood hung heavily in the air at the factory. Spike was tied to a chair, his chest a mass of lacerations, a minion standing close by to make sure he didn't escape. 

Drusilla stood in front of him, looking up a bank of TV monitors where Spike's confrontation with Angel - and subsequent smooch-session with the Slayer - was playing for the 38th time that hour.

"I bought you that bloody camera to film the Slayer's fighting style, not my bloody snogging technique," Spike snarled at the minion. 

"Sorry boss. I was just following orders," said the fledge. He shuffled his feet, still deeply unsure whether he was doing the right thing in turning against Spike. Drusilla had lost it even more dramatically than usual when he'd returned with video proof of what Spike had been doing during his long absence. She'd slashed the lackey's broad, ugly face open from ear to ear, making him look like a budget version of The Joker. Currently, she was the one he was slightly more scared of, so he'd followed her instructions.

Drusilla shushed them both theatrically as the camera panned to show Spike leaning in to kiss the Slayer. "Again, show me again. Rewind it."

"Dru," groaned Spike, "I've already told you, it's not what it looks like. I'm just playing a trick on the girl, that's all. Convincing her I have the hots for her - I'm just trying to soften her up, love."

She whirled to face him, still in game face, and sliced another ragged, bleeding line across his stomach with her claws. 

"No talking during the movie, naughty boy, or I'll turn your insides into a hat for Miss Edith. It's almost her birthday. She loves the twirly purple bits."

"Come on, poodle, don't be like this. I told you, I'm just trying to get into this Slayer's head. Once I know her I can kill her. And once I kill her you can have your run of Sunnyhell. Get strong again."

"She's in trouble. Everything's switching. Outside to inside. It makes her weak."

A sharp icicle of fear lodged itself in Spike's chest. "What do you mean? Did you have a vision? What's going to do that to her?"

"He's come to change it all," whispered Drusilla. "Sunshine will disappear behind a big...black...cloud." She punctuated her words with sharp, wounding jabs to his chest. "And you won't be able to stop it."

Spike struggled against his ropes, but they were fastened tight. Dru and the hapless minion had clobbered him while he slept and tied him up while he was still stunned and half-asleep, which was a bit of a dick move, frankly. He vamped out and stood up, then crashed back down to the floor again, instantly turning the chair into a cloud of splinters. 

He shook off the ropes, then bent down to pick up a long, jagged, sharp length of wood. He pulled his wrist back, fully intending to hurl the makeshift stake at the facially-challenged minion who shrunk against a nearby wall, terrified. Then he changed his mind, tossing it to one side. 

"Look after her," he growled. "Make sure she's fed, no matter how long I'm gone for. If anything happens to her, I'll boil you alive in a vat of holy water. Slowly."

He strode into their makeshift bedroom, grabbed his duster and, after a brief moment of reflection, the beat-up old duffel bag he'd stashed beneath the bed. Going back to the factory in future didn't seem like a wise option. Dru might be mad and sick, but she wasn't stupid. 

Buffy wasn't just in his head, she was in his heart, and he wasn't hiding that fact particularly well from Drusilla, or himself. 

\---

Buffy stood in front of her long mirror, putting the finishing touches to her long, black wig, which she'd piled on top of her head. She admired herself, turning this way and that, then smiled at her very fetching reflection. For a moment, she forgot some of her confusion and heartache over Spike's disappearance, lost in the childish fun of playing make-believe.

The dress was a slam dunk: it fit her in all the right places, hugging her slim waist, accentuating her breasts...it almost felt like a waste to use it taking a bunch of kids around the neighbourhood for two hours. She sighed, her face suddenly glum. She couldn't help but wish Spike was here to see her in Regency drag. She could just imagine the way he'd look at her, drinking her in...

"We could watch 'I Know What You Did Last Summer'", called Willow from the bathroom.

"Huh?" said Buffy.

"After we take the kids back to school," her friend explained. "Your mom's out all night, right? I rented it a few days ago, I read a review that said it's 'bloody and brutal'. There's a guy with a hook for a hand and he goes all slashy on a bunch of oversexed teens."

Buffy frowned, remembering the Zu-zoggle demon, or whatever it was actually called. 

"Sounds a bit too much like work to me, Will. Anyway, don't think I can't tell when you're stalling. Time to come out, you can't hide in there all night."

"OK, but promise you won't laugh?"

"I promise," Buffy replied, earnestly.

Willow slunk into the bedroom wearing the knee high boots Buffy had worn to the frat party, a short, black leather skirt and a burgundy crop top. Buffy wolf whistled, then bounded across to her.

"Will, you are a dish!"

"I don't know, Buffy. I think the ghost costume is a bit more 'me'," she said, waving the sheet in Buffy's general direction.

Buffy pulled it from her hand and threw it into the corner. 

"Willow, you look gorgeous. Ravishing. You are seriously ravishable right now."

"But this just isn't me," Willow pleaded.

"And that's the point. Look, Halloween is the night that not you is you, but not you. Y'know?"

"I think that sentence kinda lost its way somewhere," said Willow with a smile. 

The doorbell rang, and Buffy clapped her hands in excitement. 

"Oh, that's Xander. Are you ready?"

Willow made a non-committal noise as Buffy ran downstairs, saying something about "boys going non-verbal". She reached for the sheet again.

As she walked downstairs, she saw Buffy curtsying to Xander, who was clearly drinking her in. Buffy did look beautiful, thought Willow. Seriously drop-dead gorgeous. 

Buffy and Xander looked up as she started walking towards them, and Willow saw disappointment in her friend's large, pretty green eyes.

"Boo," said Willow, weakly.

\---

After picking up the kids - who Buffy had to admit were pretty damn cute, despite the fact they were the reason her evening had been hijacked - Buffy found herself having a surprisingly good time. She'd shared all of her very best trick or treating tips. The lip wobble, the 'make your eyes as large, moist and adorably pleading as possible' technique, the slight hint of baby talk when speaking to anyone over 50. They'd all worked perfectly. 

She crouched down to see what they'd gotten from the last house they visited, and shook her head sadly when they pulled out toothbrushes. 

"She must be stopped," she said with a sigh. "Let's hit one more house. We still have a few more minutes before I need to get you back."

Buffy shivered as she felt a cold breeze blow across her neck, ruffling her long, dark ringlets. There was something strange in that wind, she thought. A sort of buzzing - like the noise you hear when you stand too close to an electricity pylon. Her head felt heavy and cotton-wool-like. The last coherent thought she had before her memories and sense of self blew away on the eldritch breeze was of Spike, and whether she would ever see him again.

At the same time, a couple of blocks away, Willow found herself dealing with a sudden and very inconvenient loss of corporality. And as if that wasn't bad enough, seconds later she heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire cut across the screams, bangs, crashes, yells and other types of noisy commotion filling the neighbourhood.

She dashed towards the sound, and discovered Xander brandishing an M-16 rifle, looking like he'd escaped from the set of a war movie.

"Xander!" she called, beyond relieved to see her friend, only to find a gun trained at her chest. She took a hasty step back. 

"Hey," she said, alarmed and hurt. "It's me, Willow!"

"I don't know any Willow," he replied, sternly.

"Xander, quite messing around. This is no time for jokes."

After a confusing conversation - which included an awkward and fairly icky 'having-a-guy-walk-straight-through-you' moment that Willow definitely wasn't going to forget in a hurry- Buffy appeared, and Willow found herself babysitting two amnesiacs, one of whom was deeply afraid of cars. 

How the hell was she going to deal with this giant, squiggly mess? Willow thought. She wished she could turn back time to the beginning of the evening, when her biggest worry was how slutty people would think her outfit was. Somehow, the fact that everyone could see her midriff didn't seem quite as important now that her stomach was made of ectoplasm or whatever. 

Xander and Willow cajoled and half-carried a terrified Buffy back to her house. It took much longer than Willow would have liked. She kept having to stop Xander attempting to shoot random children, and Buffy kept falling down in abject terror every time she saw something unfamiliar, like a manhole cover or - on one occasion - a slightly menacing-looking hedge.

They finally reached the Summers house, and Xander opened the kitchen door, creeping cautiously inside while scanning the room.

"All clear," he called back, and Buffy made her way haltingly into the room, looking like a deer in the headlights.

"Where are we?" she said, her voice wavering. Her dark wig had come loose and fell around her face, making her look wild and slightly feral - a child raised by wolves, entering a human dwelling for the first time. She caught a glimpse of the fridge, and screamed.

"Relax, Buffy," said Willow, feeling anything but relaxed herself. "This is your home. And that's just a fridge. We just need to..."

Someone started banging on the door, and they all jumped - even Xander, although he tried his best to hide it under his cool, manly exterior. 

"Don't open it!" Willow shouted, but to her amazement Buffy walked straight over to it and took hold of the handle, looking terrified but resolute. 

"I can feel...I think...it's someone I know," she said, her eyes wide. She threw open the door, and Spike fell inside, slamming it behind him.  
  
"Buffy," he said, his voice thick with relief. He reached out to take her in his arms, but she flung herself backwards, away from him. 

"Unhand me, sir!" she said, her voice shrill and fearful, then ducked down to hide behind Xander. 

Spike looked at Xander, then at Willow, then back at Xander again. He looked - for want of a better word - very frazzled.

"Does someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?" he said.

Willow sighed. "Everyone's turned into their costumes. I'm a ghost, Xander's a soldier - and no, he doesn't know who he is - and Buffy...well..."

Buffy looked at Spike again, her eyes as huge and round as the kids she'd coached to look adorable earlier. Her lip wobbled.

"Buffy's a bloody 18th-century noblewoman," said Spike, resignedly.

"Yep," said Willow. "And she's scared of cars, manholes, hedges and many, many other everyday things. Which basically leaves us in the middle of a mini-apocalypse sans-Slayer."

"Well isn't this neat," said Spike, sarcastically. 

He moved towards Buffy again and she recoiled further.

"Stay away, ruffian!" she shouted. "This man has a musket, and I will order him to fire on you if you come any nearer!"

Spike's eyes narrowed. He turned to Willow.

"Who's behind this spell, Red? Do you have any idea?"

Willow shook her head, "no, but I know someone who might. I need to go and find Giles. You guys stay here while I get some help. Spike, I'm trusting you to look after them both, OK? If something tries to get in, you'll all just have to fight it off."

"It's not a woman's place to fight," said Buffy, primly.

Spike sighed. He was going to have to play along with this, for her sake.

"Don't worry, milady, we menfolk will protect you against these fell creatures of darkness," he said, drawing himself to his full height, channeling his inner Mr Darcy. Spike risked a slight bow in her direction and was rewarded by the slightest hint of a grateful smile from the Slayer. 

He closed his eyes. It was going to be a long night.

A bang echoed through the hallway, instantly identifiable as the sound of the kitchen door flying open. 

Spike and Xander ran towards the noise, and found themselves face to face with Angel, who was standing in the middle of the room, breathing heavily. His eyes flashed amber when he saw Spike, and he growled. 

"What the hell are you doing here? Where's Buffy?" said Angel, his fists clenching. He lurched towards Spike, fisting his coat in his hand before he had time to move away. 

"If you've hurt her I'll..." 

Spike didn't get to find out what he'd do, because Angel abruptly punched him in the face. 

"Woah, ease up there, buddy," said Xander, lifting the gun. Angel let go of Spike and took a step backwards. Spike wiped the blood from his mouth. "Nice shot," he said, scathingly. 

"Put the gun down, Xander," said Angel. "What the hell were you thinking, letting Spike in here?"

"Why, is this your house?" Xander replied.

"No, and you know that. Buffy, what's going on? What's up with your hair? And why are tiny demons running around the neighbourhood trying to eat pensioners?"

Buffy looked like she was about to cry, and just stared at Angel blankly.

"She's lost her memory, you nit," said Spike, moving to stand beside her. He was pleased when she didn't move away. "She thinks she's some lady of the manor from the late 1700s."

Angel glared at him, then turned to the Slayer. "Buffy, come with me," he said, closing the distance between them to take hold of her arm. 

Spike's hand shot out and grabbed Angel's roughly, pulling him off her.

"I don't think so, mate," said Spike - the final word dripping with menace.

"Bad idea," Angel snarled. "Probably the worst one you've had yet."

Buffy ran back to the doorway and clung to Xander, holding onto his arm, tears beginning to form in her eyes. 

"I want to stay with this man!" she whimpered. "You're both very uncouth."

The two vampires started to circle each other.

"That's the second time you've grabbed her without asking recently. Think I already told you what would happen if you tried that again," said Spike, his eyes flashing yellow.

"I don't know what's going on here," Angel replied, "but I know you're behind it. You're dead, Spike."

Spike just laughed, "oh, alright then, granddad. You want to dance? Let's fuckin' dance." 

He leapt forward, fists swinging, and his punch connected with Angel's jaw. Buffy screamed. The larger vampire leapt at Spike with a snarl, knocking him to the floor, choking him and pinning him to the ground.

Spike brought his knee up into Angel's stomach, winding him. He pushed Angel away, then leapt back to his feet, only to be immediately tackled from behind. 

"Shit," said Spike, as Angel grabbed a handful of his hair and bounced his face off the tiled floor. Blood spurted from Spike's nose, splattering a nearby cabinet. Angel immediately vamped out, scenting victory, then made the mistake of looking across at Buffy.

If they'd thought she was screaming loudly before, they hadn't heard anything yet. 

As soon as she saw Angel's game face, she let out a horrified howl of terror and fled, the kitchen door banging in the wind behind her. 

"Buffy, no!" shouted Spike, then wrested himself from Angel's grip, turning to face his attacker, his blue eyes flinty with rage.

"You absolute next level pillock," he yelled. "Now look what you've done, she's helpless as a fucking kitten out there." 

Spike burst through the open door and took off after Buffy. 

Angel turned to follow him, only to be rudely interrupted by the click of the rifle's safety being taken off. 

"What the hell are you?" said Xander to Angel, his voice soft and menacing. 

Angel considered his options, then put his hands up, his yellow eyes locked on the fake soldier with the very real gun. The bullets wouldn't kill him, but being shredded by an M-16 would definitely put a bit of a dampener on his increasingly terrible evening.

The doorbell rang, and they both glanced towards the hallway.

"Let me in, NOW," screamed Cordelia. "I'm about to get shredded by Jo-Jo the Dog-Faced Boy out here."

Xander hesitated for a microsecond, then moved in the direction of the hallway. Angel lowered his arms and started towards the rear door- hoping that Spike hadn't already caught up with Buffy. Xander cleared his throat, still holding the gun. 

"Sorry buddy, you're coming with me," he said, his finger tightening on the trigger. 

Xander herded Angel out into the hallway in front of him and made him open the door - using Angel as a sort of undead shield. 

Cordelia fell through the door into Angel's arms, clinging to him over-dramatically.

"What the hell is going on?" she said. "Xander, why are you threatening Angel with a gun? Where's Buffy?"

Angel pushed the leopard-print-clad girl away from his chest, holding her at arm's length. 

"Buffy has lost her memory, she's out there alone, being chased by a vampire who at best is a huge asshole, and at worst is a homicidal serial killer. I need to rescue her, and I need your help. Can you please explain to Xander who I am while I try my level best not to put my fist through this wall?" He turned away, looking furious, broody, frustrated and - yep, she still totally would.

Cordelia stood silently for a moment, taking it all in. It was the longest sentence she'd ever heard the dreamy weirdo say, and it also contained a lot of brand-new information.

She turned to Xander, and did a surprisingly good job of explaining the concept of friendly vampires to an amnesiac GI: Joe. After a five minute Q&A, they headed out into the night to hunt down the Slayer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all a set up for the next chapter, which I can promise you will be worth waiting for. It's already written, and will be online v. soon! Thanks for your patience.


	20. Chapter 20

Spike skidded to a halt outside the Slayer's house, swearing wildly. There was no sign of the confused Jane Austen character that Buffy had somehow become; her ability to sprint seemingly unaffected by the elaborate dress she was wearing.

As he paused to consider his next move, a 'vampire' in a frilly collar and stupid cape attempted to attack him from behind. Spike felled the former student using a one-handed, fist raised, Rafiki-from-the-Lion-King punch that knocked him out cold, barely registering that anything had happened. He was too focused on seeking out the Slayer's scent.

He closed his eyes and breathed in, deeply, his nostrils flaring, trying to make out the distinctive, creamy, vanilla-and-strawberries smell of her favourite body lotion, mixed with the sweet, clean meadowherb aroma of her blonde hair. Underneath both of those fragrances was a scent that was simply Buffy: her essence, which was mainly concentrated between her legs, a sort of earthy, spicy, absolutely bloody delectable musk that made him groan when he finally caught a faint whiff of it.

All of these fragrances wove together like a symphony, forming a sort of sense memory: a ghost Buffy who he could track through the mob of screaming teenagers, alarmed adults and feral demon kids that were still terrorising the neighbourhood.

Spike broke into a jog, following her trail like a loyal bloodhound. Soon, he'd broken free of the twee suburb she lived in and found himself heading towards the warehouse district. 

He could track her more clearly now, and the hot, sour, leaking-battery smell of her fear was an bitter undertone that got ever stronger as he closed the distance between them. Spike growled under his breath - he was going to make sure whoever was responsible for this spell had a very messy, long and drawn out death.

He heard Buffy before he saw her. A high, frantic scream pierced the night air, coming from a nearby alleyway. Spike picked up the pace, running as fast as he could, his duster billowing out behind him. He rounded the corner and saw her lying on the ground with some twat in a pirate costume looming over her. As soon as she struggled to her feet, the pirate grabbed her, shoving her roughly against a crate before grinding himself lasciviously against her prone body. 

Spike was on him in seconds, silent and deadly, a sharp, fast, efficient blow from behind knocking the leering git unconscious. 

Buffy screamed again - at Spike, this time. She pushed him away roughly and slid down, her back against the wall, tears spilling from her green eyes. 

"Stay away from me," she said in a husky, weepy voice. "Please." 

Spike squatted down until he was level with her, making a slow, repetitive shushing noise as if he were trying to soothe a frightened horse. 

"Hush, hush, it's OK, don't be scared," he said, his voice as gentle as he could make it. "You're under a spell, love. I'm your...you know me. I won't hurt you."

She sat up and drew her knees towards herself, clutching them, peering at him nervously over her tented, red satin-covered legs.

"Who are you to me?" she said. "I do feel...you do seem familiar. More so than any other being in this cursed place."

Spike plucked up the courage to reach for her hand, and - after a moment's hesitation - she took it. He stood up, helping her to her feet. 

"Are you my...betrothed?" she continued. 

Spike's eyes widened at that. For once, he was entirely lost for words. 

"Er..." 

"No, you can't be. You're dressed like a ruffian. I'd never lower myself to consort with your type," she said, haughtily. "I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to marry a baron."

"Oi!" exclaimed Spike, stung by the Slayer's dismissive tone. Then he had an idea. He leaned closer to her, glancing up and down the alley as if checking he couldn't be overheard.

"Madam, I can assure you I'm no scoundrel," he said, in an artificially posh voice, sounding eerily like his pre-vampire self. "I've been forced to don this disguise to conceal my true identity from the vile beings that haunt this town. I'm actually an Duke, not a baron. The Duke of...um...Sunnydale. And you are my wife."

Buffy looked unsure for a moment, then her face broke into a tentative smile. 

"I thought so. I felt...very much drawn to you, despite your loutish appearance." 

She moved closer, then reached out and ran her hand up his arm, surprising him by squeezing his bicep. It was all Spike could do not to push her against the wall and ravish her until she couldn't see straight, but it wouldn't be right. Not...gentlemanly, he thought. She wasn't herself, for one thing.

He suspected Duchess Summers wouldn't mind too much, though, if the smouldering look in her green eyes was anything to go by, not to mention the rising scent of her arousal. 

Spike was interrupted by a crashing noise from the other end of the alley. A mob of monsters were heading in their direction. Buffy spotted them and squeaked in alarm, moving to hide behind him in the same way she'd ducked behind Xander earlier in the evening. Guess that meant he'd been accepted as her new protector, then.

He grabbed her arm and dragged them into a nearby warehouse, barring the metal door before pulling a heap of heavy boxes down to block it. The assorted creatures hammered and banged on the solid steel for a while, before eventually growing bored and wandering off. 

Spike turned to face Buffy. She'd perched herself on a pile of crates and was leaning back, her breasts heaving in the tight, low cut bodice. She was swinging her legs girlishly, which in turn made her layered skirts rustle like reeds in the wind. He walked across to stand in front of her. Her face was flushed, and the smell of her sodden panties hung in the air, overwhelming his senses. 

She looked up at him artlessly, somehow managing to look innocent, virginal, hot and horny all at once. It was quite impressive.

"If you are my husband, then...it's only right that I should perform my wifely duties," she said, with a very endearing blush.

Her words went straight to his already-hard cock, which throbbed almost painfully. He bit back a moan. 

"I'm not sure this is the right time, my love," he winced, both at the accidental declaration and the fact he was actually turning down sex with the incredible Mills and Boon wet dream in front of him. She looked like just like the cover illustration of a novel called 'Scandal in Lace' he'd found under Dru's bed once.

"But my lord, I hate to see you so...uncomfortable," she said, sitting up more fully, her gaze meeting his for a moment before trailing down his body. She stared at the bulge in his pants meaningfully, then looked back up at him. 

His resolve faltered - he wasn't a bloody monk, after all - and he moved towards her, nestling himself between her legs. She opened them more widely, allowing him better access, releasing more of that delicious scent he craved.

She tilted her face up to meet his, then reached down to trace the outline of his cock. She cupped it and squeezed him, hard. He grunted in surprise. 

She smiled at the sound and he noticed a tell-tale glint in her eyes. He pulled back slightly, one eyebrow raised.

"When did the spell wear off?" he asked.

Buffy chuckled. "About five minutes ago," she replied.

"You bloody minx," said Spike, admiringly, then smashed his lips against hers, pouring all of the night's worry and frustration into a searing kiss. She opened her mouth, snaking out her hot little tongue to meet his, then moaned as he ground his erection against her aching, soaked pussy. God, she'd missed him. 

He moved his hands up to cup her face, before running his hands through her hair - only for it to come loose from her head. He broke the kiss in surprise, then remembered she'd been wearing a wig. He laughed, then tossed it into a corner. 

"Think I definitely prefer blondes, these days," he said, his voice gruff and hoarse with desire. 

He kissed her again and she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning back on the crates, pulling him down on top of her. His mouth moved across to her cheek, then he lightly licked the soft, yielding whorls of her ear, noting how closely the pliant cartilage resembled his vampire ridges. He lost himself for a while, sucking and nibbling, Buffy's clit throbbing in time to each probing, intimate caress. 

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him against her, wriggling until she was positioned underneath him, rubbing herself desperately against the hardness she found there. Spike felt his balls tighten and he pulled back, to her intense disappointment.

"Buffy, we need to slow down a bit, love, unless you want me to come in my pants like a bloody teenager," he gasped. "Fuck, just...want you so much."

She thrilled at the lust and desperation in his voice and started to kiss his smooth, pale neck, nibbling gently at his carotid artery before some instinct sent her lunging up at him, biting his throat in a sudden, hungry, sharp nip. He panted and thrust himself against her again without meaning to, his hard cock smashing roughly against her clit, making her cry out. 

"Please, I want you...inside," Buffy moaned, her hands grabbing at his back, tugging him closer to her. She'd already died a virgin once, she wasn't keen to wait any longer. Slayers had a shorter lifespan than most cats, it seemed, and her new resolution was to cram as much fun, sex and enjoyment as possible into each and every day moving forward. In between apocalypses, of course.

Spike nuzzled his face into her perfumed skin. He wanted to fuck her so, so very badly. But this wasn't right - he couldn't, not on a pile of dirty pallets in a warehouse. He wanted it to be special...there should be candles involved. A bed, at least. 

"Buffy, no, I can't, pet...your first time...shouldn't be like this," he said, and she froze beneath him. He looked down and was met with a steely glare.

"I said, I want you," she said, her tone firm, clear, and almost as imperious as she'd been when she thought she was a duchess. Then, in a softer voice, she said: "I'm ready, Spike."

Fuck, who was he to deny her what she wanted? A warehouse or a bed, what was the difference, really? They were together, here, in this place, at this exact time. That was the only thing that mattered. She was his mistress, and he was her willing slave. 

Spike stood up, quickly shucking off his leather duster along with the unbuttoned red shirt underneath it. Buffy pushed herself up on her elbows, wanting to see him. He peeled off the tight black muscle tee that he'd been wearing as a base layer and her pretty face crumpled in shock. 

"What's up, love?" said Spike, then looked down at his chest. Ah, yes, he'd forgotten that Dru had turned his abdomen into a tic tac toe board of shallow wounds.

"What happened?" said Buffy, leaping down from the pile of crates, reaching out to him in sudden distress. He grabbed her hands. 

"It's nothing pet - just Drusilla. She was a little bit miffed. She found out about us, had a minion tie me up and then got a bit creative with her nails. I'm fine, I'll be healed in a day."

Buffy looked at his injuries again, then kissed him softly. 

"Maybe I should get you some bandages. And a unicorn blanket," she whispered. Spike smiled, then cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm fighting fit, love, don't you worry. I can handle anything you want to throw at me." He underlined his words by tugging her against him, hard. He slid both hands up to her head, tangling his fingers in her hair, pulling her face against his, his tongue sliding into her open mouth. She met it with her own, duelling with him, deepening the kiss until neither of them knew where one began and the other ended. 

Through the now-familiar haze of lusty pink fog, Buffy felt the back of her knees collide with the crates. She hopped up onto them, then lay back. Spike moved on top of her. 

"You sure, love?" he said, looking into her eyes, those three simple words resonant with desire. Buffy just nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Spike slid his hands up underneath her long, layered 18th-century style skirts until he found her far more modern thong. He took hold of the barely-there scrap of lace, ripping it away in one quick, rough motion. 

He started to push the dress up her legs, lifting and gathering the ruffled fabric - but there was far too much material and he growled in frustration. 

Changing his strategy, he bent down, threw the gown over his head and tunnelled underneath it until he was face to face with her soaking wet cunt. He pressed his grateful lips to her sodden mound like a man dying of thirst and moaned against her, the vibrations making her thrash and buck above him.

"Spike, please," she begged, her hands reaching down to rest against his head, which was covered in sleek red fabric. She wished she could see him. 

He ran his tongue along her outer folds teasingly, making her curse and clutch him even tighter. He felt her trying to reposition his head so it was exactly where she wanted it to be and he smiled against her soft, dewy skin. Then, relenting slightly, he planted a firm kiss at the apex of her thighs and was rewarded with a delighted squeal.

"Patience is a virtue, Slayer," he murmured, before sliding his tongue deep inside her hot, slick pussy. Christ, she was going to burn him up, he thought. He thrust inside her a few times, then turned his attention to her clit, licking and sucking on it while she cried out above him, the delightful sounds she was making muffled by the ridiculous, oversized dress. 

That'll have to come off, he thought, muzzily, before bringing two of his fingers into play, sliding both of them into her intoxicatingly tight quim. 

"God, yes, Spike," Buffy gasped, pushing down onto his cool digits, impaling herself. His cock jerked in his pants as he came, sudden wetness spreading across his crotch. He ignored the slightly unwelcome sensation, continuing to kiss and nuzzle her as she fucked his hand. 

After a moment or two he felt the Slayer shudder and scream, flooding his mouth with her delicious, sweet juices. He put his other hand on her stomach, holding her against him as he drank her down. She twitched, screamed and came a second time, and he was instantly hard again. Christ, she was divine. There was no way he could ever give her up. His existence would be entirely meaningless without this delicate, rose-pink, seashell-like little cunt quivering against his lips.

He extracted himself from beneath her posh frock, almost frantic with lust and the enormity of what he was about to do....what they were about to do. 

Buffy reached for him and he grabbed her arms, lifting her briskly to her feet before spinning her round to undo the long zip that was holding the intricate dress closed, kissing her neck gently as he slid it down over her shoulders. She stepped out of the gown, letting it pool beneath her on the floor. 

Spike unhooked her bra with one practiced hand and dropped it to land on top of the dress. She turned back to face him, completely naked, her small, tanned, perky tits pressing against his taut chest, hips nestled snugly against his. 

He lifted her up and she immediately wrapped her legs around his waist, rotating her hips, rubbing herself languorously against his denim-clad prick. She felt his own, cooler wetness against her hot, slick centre and she smiled coyly.

"Did you come already?" she said, her lips parted, eyes dark with territorial pleasure. Spike nodded, trying to hide a slight frisson of embarrassment. 

"Said I was liable to, pet. I'm so hard for you again though, can you feel it? Can't wait to get into your sweet, tight little cunt. Gonna make it so good for you, Buffy..." he kissed her again, full of emotion, then pulled her to the ground so that she was lying half on her own discarded dress, half on the soft leather of his jacket. He ripped off his belt and popped open his top button, unzipping his fly, letting his erection spring up against his taut belly. He wrapped his fingers around his shaft, thrusting against his palm a couple of times, then wriggled out of his jeans, kicking them aside.

Spike pushed Buffy's knees apart, more roughly than he intended. He was shaking; all the blood in his body seemed to have rushed to his cock. He didn't think he could stop now even if he was hit by a nuclear bloody bomb, and he could tell the Slayer felt the same. She was so wet for him: slick and soaked from her mound to her inner thighs. Her pussy lips were flushed, red and swollen - it almost looked as if she'd been fucked already.

As he stared down at her, Buffy spread her legs even wider, urging him on with a whispered plea. Spike took hold of his prick and rubbed it against her folds, dragging his slippery, spongy cock head the full length of her sodden slit. They both groaned at the contact. Then he bore down on Buffy's clit, circling it a few times until her overstimulated pussy contracted in another sudden, fierce orgasm. She threw her head back and screamed until she was hoarse, then sagged back down onto their makeshift bed, clutching at his shoulders.

"Oh fuck, Buffy, yes, good girl," he said, wonderingly, amazed at how quickly she'd come again. She was so responsive, his Slayer.

She raised her head so she could look at him - all of him. God, he was big, she thought. How the hell was she going to take all...that...inside herself?

She should be afraid, but she wasn't. In fact, there was nothing she wanted more. She wanted him to fill her to the brim, become part of her. She let her gaze travel back up to his face. Spike saw the unspoken plea in her eyes and covered her with his body again, consumed by an answering desire to claim her. 

He kissed her cheek, her neck, her mouth, his cock twitching against her drenched cunt, nudging her entrance. Then he looked at her for permission, just as he'd done in the crypt days ago.

Buffy felt an unreasonable flash of annoyance at how incredibly...well behaved...he was being. Couldn't he see that she was about to explode? Taking the initiative, she bore down, pushing herself against him until the head of his cock started to stretch her tight entrance. She whimpered at the delicious, intense burning sensation - a wonderful, all-consuming ache, deep inside her body. 

"Yes, yes, Spike, I need you, please...ahhhh!" 

She cried out as he rolled his hips and sank inside her, quickly and smoothly, a column of cool granite dropping into a river of lava. 

"Christ, Slayer, you're so hot and tight," he moaned. This was heaven, surely. He felt like he was about to dust. Her pussy clamped around him like a vice, but he kept pushing, sliding into her - he couldn't stop. In another second he was lodged fully within her, deeply rooted, their toned stomachs pressed together - one pale as daybreak, the other a tawny gold.

She mewled underneath him, eyes screwed shut, tears seeping between her lashes. Fuck, he was hurting her.

"Buffy, pet, love, are you ok?" he asked, taking her face in his hands, stroking her cheeks until her eyelids fluttered open and she met his worried gaze. 

"I'm...perfect. It's perfect," she took a small, hitching breath, then kissed him. He leant his forehead against hers. "Buffy," he said, hoarsely, completely undone, unmade, lost in the blazing, vital heat of her. He bent to kiss her small, rosy breasts, taking one nipple in his mouth, then the other, laving them with his tongue. She gasped and her hands flew to his head.

He felt Buffy shift slightly beneath him, grinding herself against his cock as if trying to fit more of him inside her - but there was no more left for her to take. 

"Move, Spike," she begged. "I want to feel you..."

She didn't need to ask him twice. He pulled back, sliding out of her - just a little. As he did, the metallic, intoxicating tang of her blood rose up between them, heady and overwhelming. He looked down at the red droplets beading his cock, and snarled. Spike fought his demon down with every ounce of his being, his eyes flashing lemon-amber-gold as he tried to resist the urge to vamp out. Buffy gasped at the sight of him, then lifted her hand to his face. 

"It's alright, Spike," she said, "just let go." 

He nuzzled her palm gratefully, then relaxed, letting his face contort and change. His fangs glinted in the dim half light of the warehouse and something deep within Buffy thrilled at the sight of him. There was nothing monstrous in his expression - he looked leonine, fierce and passionate. She felt protected rather than afraid, not to mention excited, proud and - Jesus fuck he was huge.

She screamed as Spike suddenly slammed his cock back inside her, his control slipping. He reared back, pulling out even further, then thrust forward a second time with a feral grunt.

Buffy gasped as he hit a previously undiscovered bundle of nerves deep inside her body; tearing pain mingled with a head-spinning rush of pleasure. Fresh blood dripped onto the dress beneath her, and Buffy thrilled at the feeling of his magnificent, rock hard cock splitting her in two. It was exactly what she wanted, what she needed. She was being possessed in the most frantic, passionate, intense and wonderful of ways. 

The cautious lover and tender virgin completely disappeared; in their place were two rutting animals. Buffy keened and grunted as her demon lover pounded her roughly into the hard ground, her pussy rippling and pulsing around him, her blood and come mingling together, helping Spike's swollen shaft slide more easily in and out of her aching, stinging, throbbing cunt.

He fucked her hard, deep and fast, hands gripping her hips tightly, leaving red marks that would darken to deep, purple bruises by the morning, her legs thrown up over his shoulders.

Spike wrapped his arms around her back and sat up so he was kneeling with Buffy in his lap. He cupped her ass in both hands, lifting her almost completely off his prick so he could repeatedly slam her back down onto it again, their bodies connecting in a series of deeply obscene, wet, squishing sounds. Buffy howled with pleasure as he bounced her up and down, one arm wrapped tightly around his back, the other grabbing his hair, her eyes closed in reverent bliss.

"I'm so close, Buffy, fuck, I'm gonna come so hard luv," Spike groaned, nipping at her collarbone with his needle sharp fangs, pinpricks of blood rising to the surface of her skin.

Spike lapped at the tiny wounds, almost out of his mind with the sensations that were surging through his body; the smell of her virgin blood on his cock, the taste of her. He'd never experienced anything like this: she was pure sunshine, burning him up, consuming him, destroying him, killing him...

He roared against her neck as he came, shooting his come in long cool spurts deep inside her. His violent release pushed Buffy over the edge and she exploded too, screaming his name, clutching at him like she was drowning. 

After a while, her hoarse cries of pleasure turned to gasping, shuddering sobs, tears falling unbidden down her cheeks, her chest heaving. 

"Shit, Buffy, no, shhh, what's wrong pet, oh God, I'm sorry..." 

Spike's features shifted, turning into an extremely worried human face. 

He laid Buffy down carefully, then slid out of her as slowly as he could, but she still winced at the sudden loss of him.

He gathered her into his arms, pulling her into a tight embrace, stroking her back soothingly. Buffy buried her face in his chest and took a deep, wavering breath.

"I'm...I'm fine," she said, with a shaky, slightly embarrassed laugh. "It's just...that was...so intense. It was incredible. But, like, majorly overwhelming."

Spike kissed her head and gave her a squeeze. 

"You're telling me, kitten," he replied. He felt as wobbly as a newborn deer, like Bambi struggling to keep his footing on a frozen pond. "Don't think I'll be able to walk for a week."

Buffy looked down at the now-quite gory princess dress with a dismayed "eep". 

Spike followed her gaze, feeling his demon surge beneath his skin at the sight of Buffy's blood. It was a little easier to win the battle this time, and it settled again, almost purring as the Slayer snuggled back into his arms. 

"I don't think I'm getting my deposit back," she said, with a wry little smile. 

"Worth it though, right?" asked Spike, seeking validation - as if he hadn't just reduced her to a blubbering wreck with the sheer force of her multiple orgasms. 

"Yeah, just about. I mean, I got a pretty good rental deal," she grinned, and he swatted her arm playfully before rolling her onto her back. 

"Well, I can't do much about the dress, but maybe I should clean you up," he growled, and Buffy shivered as she caught his meaning.

"Spike..." she said, her voice outwardly unsure, but shot through with tiny iron filaments of desire. 

Spike nuzzled at her neck, nipping her throat with blunt, human teeth.

"Slayer..." he replied, his erection stirring against her outstretched leg. He kissed his way down to her shoulder, then her collarbone - pausing to run his tongue over the tiny cuts he'd made there earlier. His next stop was her taut, erect nipple, which he flicked roughly until she started to tremble beneath him.

"Ummm," muttered Buffy, finally rendered entirely non-verbal. 

Spike's mouth dipped lower, lapping at her belly button for a ticklish second before he finally reached his goal. She hadn't shaved since her swimming class and her hair was starting to grow back - dark blonde peach fuzz clustered around the longer strip of hair in the centre of her mound. He hummed appreciatively, then bent to run his tongue up her bloody inner thigh.

She squeaked at the sensation and wriggled as if trying to get away from him, so he took hold of her wrists, pulling them down towards her hips, pinning her in place as he continued to clean her, suckling at her soft flesh, moving ever closer to her well-used pussy. He vamped out again then buried his face between her legs, his mouth wide open.

He lapped up their commingled blood and come with delighted little grunts and murmurs of appreciation, then - without warning - he pressed the smooth, flat edge of his fangs firmly against her clit. She froze and he ran his thumb over her wrists soothingly. Once he felt her relax, he nuzzled into her, hard, moving his head from side to side, rubbing her with his teeth.

Buffy screamed at the overwhelming sensation, brought to the verge of orgasm almost instantly.

"Jesus. Fucking. Christ," she hollered. 

"Mmm, not sure he's around to help you, pet," mumbled Spike through a mouthful of the sweetest, ripest pussy he'd ever tasted. 

He did the side-to-side thing a second time and that was all it took to send her crashing over the edge, supernovae bursting behind her closed eyelids in a galaxy-sized fireworks show of violet, gold and blazing white light. Her ears were ringing.

When she finally recovered enough to lift her head, she was confronted with the most grotesquely sexy sight she'd ever seen: Spike, crouched between her legs, a lecherous, proud grin plastered over his face - which was smeared with her virgin blood. 

She closed her eyes again and let her head fall back on his leather coat, a smile curling her lips. She'd just lost her virginity to an smutty, wicked, shameless master vampire on the floor of a filthy warehouse, and she'd loved every damn minute of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It had to happen eventually, hope it was worth the wait! NB Buffy 'giving it up' on some crates in the warehouse on Halloween is a homage to my fave fic, Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow by the incredible Sunalso. You should read it, as it's way better than mine. https://archiveofourown.org/works/6261235


	21. Chapter 21

Even though the spell had worn off twenty minutes earlier, Cordelia, Angel and Xander - who was still holding his toy gun, for some reason - still hadn't managed to track down Buffy.

"I thought vampires had, like, super senses or something," grumbled Xander. "Can't you sniff her out?" 

Angel continued to stomp along the alley, staring dead ahead. 

"I'm not a police dog. Smell...isn't my strong suit. I'm more of an 'excellent night vision' kind of guy. Oh, and hearing - I have great hearing too."

"Is smell Spike's strong suit?" asked Cordelia, her voice outwardly innocent, but there was a slight cattiness in the background that matched her leopard-print outfit. 

She had grown deeply bored of looking for Buffy about 30 minutes ago, and the whole 'helpful, sexy assistant' thing was wearing pretty thin. Not least because Angel had barely glanced at her since they set out on this super dumb rescue mission. Didn't Angel know she was the dating Slayer? What a total waste of an evening.

Angel muttered something noncommittal under his breath, sounding very bad-tempered. 

Xander sighed, then shivered.

"How much longer do you want to keep looking for her?" he asked. "If the spell's worn off, she'll have gone back to normal, butt-kicking Buffy. She's not in danger anymore. We, on the other hand, probably look like delicious demon snacks. Also, I'm kinda cold."

Angel shushed him. Xander glared at the back of his head, making a shooting gesture with the toy gun. Cordelia rolled her eyes. They came to a halt outside a battered-looking metal warehouse door. 

"She's in there," said the vampire, curtly. 

"Are you sure?" said Cordelia, skeptically. "Looks just like the other bajillion warehouses we've been circling randomly all night."

"Yes. I can hear her...well, her heartbeat, anyway. She's alone," Angel replied, huffily. He took hold of the handle and tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. 

"Buffy?" he called. "Are you in there?" He rattled the handle again, then lifted his foot and kicked out as hard as he could. The door shuddered on its hinges. 

"Wait, Angel - just...wait, please. I'm coming out," called Buffy from inside the warehouse, her voice oddly shrill. 

"Hey Buff," shouted Xander. "How's it hanging?"

"There was a long silence from the other side of the door, then Buffy said: "It's hanging...fine. I got into a...bit of a fight. But I'm OK. Maybe I could meet up with you guys later?" she sounded extremely hopeful.

"Buffy, we've been combing this low-rent, dirty, gross, demon-haunted district for, like, a million years trying to find you. The least you could do is walk us home," tutted Cordelia. 

There was a sigh, then the sound of boxes being pushed out of the way. 

"OK, I'm coming out. Don't...overreact though, please?" said Buffy, before opening the door. She was alone, or at least appeared to be. She was still wearing her Halloween costume but it was torn and stained. Her hair was a mess, too.

"Buffy," said Angel, sounding shocked. He moved towards her, arms outstretched, but Buffy threw herself backwards even more quickly, maintaining the distance between them. 

Angel stopped in his tracks, looking hurt.

"I'm not injured, I promise," she said, firmly. Angel's eyes narrowed.

"Buffy, what's going on?" he asked. He took another step towards her, but Buffy moved away again. Angel stopped, then looked around the warehouse, his face a mask of suspicion.

"I told you," she said. "There was a fight..."

"Did Spike do this to you? Did he attack you?" said Angel, his voice was strained, and so low that at first struggled to make out the individual words. As soon as they registered, she blushed a deep, hot, angry red. She couldn't look him in the eye.

"I...no...no...he..." Buffy couldn't make with the words. Nothing had prepared her for having a post-first-sexual-experience showdown in a cobwebbed warehouse with a guy who seemed to think they were somehow married, while the guy who actually did the deed was crouched awkwardly and uncomfortably inside a large box just behind her.

Spike had been more than happy to face the music. In fact, he looked like he'd happily face an entire marching band, all of them clones of Angel, all of their faces crumpling in synchronised dismay as he announced the many different ways he'd made the Slayer come within an hour. But Buffy had practically stuffed him into the box, throwing his duster after him, hissing "don't you dare" when he looked like he was about to protest. Then she'd kissed him. He'd gone into the box willingly, in the end. 

"Where is he?" said Angel softly, his voice a purple-black cloud of pure menace.

Buffy just opened and closed her mouth and her eyes started to sting with tears. Cordelia looked from Angel to Buffy, and back again. Some ancient, slightly rusty cog marked 'girl code' started to whirr in her subconscious, and she squinted as an unfamiliar feeling - empathy - started to creep across the atrophied 'niceness' centre of her brain.

"Hey, guys," she said, addressing both Xander and Angel. "I've just remembered. Buffy and I need to have a very important, and very urgent...chat. I need her help with something super private. Can you give us a minute?"

Angel glared at her. "Not now, Cordelia."

But Cordelia stood her ground. She wasn't easily intimidated: she'd faced plenty of handsy, entitled jocks and jealous teen boys in her time, and right now Angel seemed to be a blend of both.

"I said, it's urgent," she repeated, her hand pushing against his chest in an ineffectual attempt to usher him towards the door.

"We're in the middle of something," said Angel, swatting her away. 

Cordelia's white-hot glare could have been used to weld metal. 

"I missed my period," she announced, suddenly and loudly. "And I need..."

That was more than enough for both Angel and Xander. They retreated so quickly it was as if they'd been pulled back by ropes, Angel waving his hands and muttering "OK, OK" as he went. 

Cordelia shouted "MAKE SURE YOU GO OUT OF EARSHOT" at their retreating backs. The door closed behind them with a very final-sounding slam. Once she was sure they were gone, Buffy turned to Cordelia, watching her with a wary, tired look in her eyes.

"You want to talk to me about your...period?" she asked, disbelievingly. Cordelia rolled her eyes and stalked over to her, high heels clicking on the stone floor. 

"No, dummy, I just wanted to get rid of Captain Slightly Threatening and his Clueless Sidekick Xander." 

She stopped in front of Buffy and looked her up and down. 

"A fight, huh?" she said, one eyebrow raised. She reached across and plucked a piece of sawdust out of Buffy's hair.

"Yeah, an' I won," said Spike from inside the box. 

"Spike," hissed Buffy. "I told you to be quiet."

Cordelia tutted. "Let the poor guy out of the box already. I figured out what was going on as soon I spotted your radioactive blush." 

Buffy turned an even deeper shade of red. Spike stood up, still completely naked, his - wait, was that an eight-pack? - rippling as he extended himself to his full height. The cardboard box just about covered his most interesting bits, but the two shallow grooves that formed a v-shape leading down from his very well defined hip bones were incredibly distracting. Cordelia mentally fanned herself.

"I wish I could say something rude about your taste in men but...wait, actually I can. His hair is pretty ridiculous. But the rest of him...whoo-wee Buffy. What freaking bizarro world did I wake up in where you can get a guy like that?!"

Despite herself, Buffy smiled. Then Cordelia laughed, and Buffy joined in. Spike looked a bit nonplussed.

"Not that I'm not enjoying the fan club, but d'you mind turning round so I can get dressed?"

he muttered.

"Shame," said Cordelia, archly, sending Buffy into a fit of giggles again. After a few breathless seconds, she straightened up, wiped away her tears and looked at Cordelia gratefully.

"Thanks," she said. Cordelia just waved her hand dismissively, as if drying her nails. 

"Whatever," she replied. "I could just see that you were too freaked to deal with the third degree from Mr Dark, Broody and Vitamin D deprived. What's his deal, anyway? This catsuit totally brings out my breasts. I was literally all over him - looking like this, helloooo - and he didn't even react. Is he gay?"

Spike sniggered, and they both looked over to where he was hopping on one leg, trying to wriggle into his skin-tight jeans while still standing in the box. He looked at them over his shoulder, coquettishly.

"No comment," he said. 

Buffy frowned as she contemplated what he could possibly mean, her brows knitted together in confusion.

He shrugged. "Sexuality is more of a spectrum, luv. You figure that out if you live long enough."

"Hmm," replied Cordelia, thoughtfully, filing the idea of Angel and Spike...together...away for future, late night contemplation. "Anyway, how about we wrap this up before Angel figures out that we're just pretending to talk about girl stuff to give your unexpectedly hot vampire lover time to escape?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," said Spike, pulling on his T-shirt and hopping out of the cardboard box. He pulled on his boots, then his duster, and ran his hand through his hair, slicking it back. In seconds, he looked just as he'd done when he'd first walked through the door of the warehouse. 

How do guys do that? thought Buffy, slightly bitterly. She looked like a reanimated zombie Little Woman, whereas he looked...hot.

Spike walked across to Buffy. "Gonna hunt around for a back door, let the dust settle a bit. Will you be alright?"

Buffy just nodded, feeling suddenly emotional. She didn't quite trust herself to speak. Spike reached out and caressed her cheek, then tilted her head up to face his and kissed her, lightly, teasingly - it was a promise, she realised. 

"I'll see you later, Slayer," he whispered - pressing his lips to her ear. She shivered. Then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows. 

"Wow, he's fast," said Cordelia. 

"Not always," Buffy replied, absently. Cordelia let out a little snort, then tugged on Buffy's ruffled lace sleeve.

"C'mon, let's go. I'm so over hanging out in this gross factory."

She turned towards the door, but Buffy shrank back again.

"What is it?" asked Cordelia, impatiently.

"I can't go near Angel," she said. "He'll..." she winced... "smell Spike on me."

"I think that cat's already way out of the bag, Buffy," said Cordelia, rolling her eyes. "But fine, I'll get rid of him."

She left the warehouse. Buffy could hear some muffled voices, then a much louder one, then an apologetic one, then what sounded like hastily retreating feet .Cordelia let herself back inside the building, looking quite smug.

"Angel says he'll catch up with you another time. And Xander literally just ran away. He didn't even say goodbye."

"What did you say to them?" said Buffy, slightly awe-struck.

"You don't want to know. It was pretty bitchy. Here's a bit of advice though - don't take crap from anyone, ever, OK? And don't be such a whipped little cry-Buffy. You're meant to be, like, some kind of ass-kicking superhero, aren't you? Maybe start behaving like one instead of letting some mopey undead dude ruin your evening whenever he wants."

Buffy's jaw dropped at she absorbed this horse-sized pill of tough love. Then she let out a shaky laugh.

"Good idea. I'll bear that in mind."

The two frenemies looked at each other for a moment, smiled, then strode out into the night.


	22. Chapter 22

It was after 10pm when Buffy finally let herself into her house. She crept in as quietly as she possibly could, just in case her mom had come home early. The last thing she needed was an interrogation about why she looked like she'd been trampled by a badly wounded bull. 

Thankfully, it seemed as if the coast was clear, at least for now. Buffy rushed up the stairs to her room, taking them two at a time. She pulled the ravaged, blood-stained dress up over her head as soon as she was through the door, bundling it into a ball and hiding it under her bed.

As she straightened up she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror - naked apart from her red push-up bra. Her panties hadn't made it home with her. 

She tilted her head to one side, examining herself in the soft lamplight. Her collarbone was starting to bruise where Spike had grazed her with his fangs. She could make out at least two hickeys on her breasts...there were probably more hidden beneath the red fabric. There was a faint bite mark on her throat.

Her stomach seemed to be relatively unscathed, but her hips were clearly marked with Spike's handprints, and she shivered at the lewd sight. Her eyes moved down her reflection until she reached her...what weird, old-fashioned word had Spike had referred to it by? Her...quim. It looked puffy, well used and slightly swollen, her glistening inner lips poking out sinfully. 

Almost as if she were hypnotised, Buffy ran her middle finger through the sticky wetness between her legs, exploring the new landscape she found, then brought it up to caress her still-hard clit gently. She gasped and shuddered at the sudden rush of sensation - every nerve ending down there still felt so exposed. 

She was interrupted by the harsh, demanding trill of the phone. She cursed and grabbed a towel that was hanging behind the door, wrapping it around her before grabbing the receiver and picking it up. The idea of taking a call while mostly naked and covered in vampire...stuff...was all kinds of weird.

"Buffy?" said Willow, breathlessly. "Are you OK?"

"Hey Will. Yeah, I'm fine. Just got home, safe and sound. You'll be pleased to hear I'm 20th-century Buffy again. Haven't had a single fainting fit for, oh, at least two hours."

"Thank god," Willow replied, her voice wavering slightly. "It's just, Xander said he and Angel found you in a warehouse and you'd been injured? And then Cordelia came outside and shouted at Angel and Xander until they left; she said you had 'girl issues' and that the guys were 'too dumb to see when they needed to back the hell off'. What's going on, Buffy?"

"I..." Buffy took a deep breath. She could almost hear Willow vibrating with anxiety on the other end of the line. "Will, I...had sex with Spike." 

She closed her eyes, her shoulders tense, pre-flinching in anticipation of the reaction she was going to get.

"YOU WHAT?" exclaimed Willow, then her voice grew muffled, as if she'd put her hand over the mouthpiece. Buffy could just make out the words "no, it's fine Giles, she's OK, shhh, go away."

"You're at Giles' house?!" squeaked Buffy. "Willow, you could have told me you weren't alone!"

"You didn't give me a chance!" Willow shot back. "Jeez, Buffy. OK, look - no, Giles, it's fine. No, this isn't a good time, no...let go." 

Buffy was sure she heard what sounded like a hand being slapped in the background, then Willow reappeared. 

"Buffy, I'm going to go. I'll call you back as soon as I can. From my house. Just...don't go anywhere." The line clicked and went dead. Buffy continued holding the phone for a moment, looking at it blankly, then hung up. 

She flopped back onto her bed with a groan, then frowned. She turned her head to one side and sniffed her underarm area, grimacing. Turns out athletic warehouse sex could wear out even the strongest deodorant, who would have guessed it?

\---

Buffy sank into the hot, foamy bathwater with a pleased sigh, then winced at the sharp sting as the suds came into contact with her sore lady parts. Even with her handy Slayer healing she could tell she was going to take a while to fully recover from Spike's no-holds-barred pounding.

She closed her eyes and ran her hands up and over her soapy breasts, remembering how Spike had touched her there earlier. She'd always thought her boobs were too small, but Spike had played with them delightedly, flicking at her nipples with his tongue, mauling them roughly as he kissed her just before he came...

With a dreamy sigh, she let her right hand dip below the surface of the water. She touched herself, tentatively at first, then more confidently - trying to remember exactly what Spike had done with his fingers when he'd gotten her off so skilfully in the frat house bedroom. After a few minutes of scientific experimentation, she was pretty sure she'd gotten the hang of it. 

Buffy rubbed herself firmly, circling her clit - not quite touching it, that was too intense, just...patrolling the outskirts. Seconds later, a surprisingly powerful orgasm shook her; water sloshed out of the side of the tub as she convulsed and jerked. She let out a little, strangled cry, immediately feeling embarrassed about making noises like that when she was on her own. 

She hauled herself out of the bath and towelled off, then pulled on a tight tank top and a pair of her comfiest sweats. She was done with being a princess for the foreseeable. She opened the door to her bedroom and immediately leapt out of her skin, her Slayer-brain screaming 'vampire'. Her hand instinctively reached for a stake that wasn't there and she ducked down into a fighting stance, before her more rational Buffy-brain had a chance to catch up and remind her that this particular vampire wasn't a threat to anything other than her underwear.

"Hello pet," said Spike, slightly warily. He'd noticed the 'about to dust you' glint in her eye, not to mention her clenched fists. She frowned as she stood up. 

"Spike, what are you doing here?"

"Said I'd see you later luv, just checking in. I knocked at your window but you didn't answer. Let myself in, then went looking for you and...um..." He coughed, looked at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck. 

Oh god, how long had he been here? thought Buffy, suddenly mortified. 

"Didn't want to interrupt your bath. Reckon you'd earned it."

Buffy blushed. 

"Er, yeah...I was a tiny bit...sore."

He looked suddenly concerned - it still felt weird seeing that fretful, caring look on his face, so different from the vicious, yellow-eyed killer she'd faced down at the school.

Spike walked over to her, then took her soft, bath-puckered hands in his. 

"Did I...are you hurt?" he said, his voice low and worried. His blue eyes searched hers, hunting for clues about how she was feeling, what she was thinking. She could feel the unspoken question hanging in the air: whether she regretted what they'd done and how they'd done it, now she was back in her safe, familiar room.

She rose up on her tiptoes to kiss him, a soft but lingering smooch that ended with her very lightly grazing his bottom lip with her teeth. He jumped, ever so slightly.

"I'm not hurt," she whispered. "You haven't even come close to hurting me. Everything you did...that we did...was incredible."

Spike's eyes widened as she said those words, and he stared at her, amazed, before kissing her again, walking her backwards into the wall so he could press her against it, his hands roaming silkily over her waist, sliding around and under her tank top, moving up to stroke her back, pulling her towards him. 

Buffy shifted slightly so she could press her hips against his. He reacted to the contact immediately, thrusting against her; pressing his hardness into the soft valley between her mound and her inner thigh. Then he moved again, and she glued her hands to his denim-glad butt, holding him in place. He growled into her mouth and she squeezed his ass possessively.

He chuckled and pulled away, his soft lips all kiss-darkened and pouty.

"Is this what you were thinkin' about when you were in the bath?" he purred. Buffy was about to hit him with a sassy response when the phone rang, again. She groaned.

"Willow," she grumbled.

"Let it ring," Spike replied, nuzzling into her neck before licking and then kissing the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. Buffy's arms erupted into gooseflesh. 

"Mmm...no, I can't...Spike, no, bad, stop with the kissage. I need to answer it. She'll worry."

With a supreme effort of will, Buffy pushed the seriously horny vampire away and darted beneath his arms to answer the phone. 

"HEY," she said, more loudly than she'd intended. "Er, I mean, hello."

"It's me, sorry, took me a while to get away from Giles, he was determined to make me tell him what you'd said."

Buffy cringed internally. "You didn't tell, did you?" she asked. 

"Of course not!" said Willow, wounded.

"Sorry Will, it's just...been a long day."

Spike sat down on the bed beside her, and started to stroke her back in that soothing-but-also-weirdly-arousing way. She shook her head and then wiggled further up the bed, moving away from him and his distracting, clever hands. 

"Did you really...do it...with Spike?" whispered Willow.

"Um, yeah," said Buffy. Spike put his hand on her knee playfully. Buffy plucked it off and put it back on the comforter, fixing him with a steely 'don't you dare' glare. He grinned back, cheekily.

"Were you...was it before or after the spell wore off?" said Will, hesitantly.

"After!" exclaimed Buffy. "Totally after. I was entirely of sound mind and....body."

Her voice went up an octave as she said the last word, as Spike had chosen that exact moment to brush her damp hair to one side and plant a kiss at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, nipping her ever so slightly with a soft, almost inaudible growl.

"That's good. I was worried he'd taken...advantage."

"No, he...he wouldn't do that, Will. I promise," said Buffy, breathlessly. "He's been very, er..." 

"Well-mannered," Spike muttered against her skin. He had worked his way from her shoulder down to her forearm, licking, kissing and nibbling every centimetre of skin he found on the way.

"Well-um-mannered," Buffy repeated. "It was my decision, OK?"

Willow fell silent for a moment, then, in a stage whisper, she asked: "what was it like?"

Spike totally heard the question - damn vampire hearing - and froze, his lips still pressed against her arm.

Buffy froze too. She hadn't expected to be asked for a play-by-play analysis, still less when the person under review was sitting right next to her, hanging on her every word.

"Er..." she started to say. Then she relaxed. Why try to hide anything? 

"It was amazing, Will. Like...the world stopped, and we were the only two people in it."

She felt Spike sit up. His hand settled on her knee again. This time, she didn't swat it away.

"And he, well, he was very gentle, at first...and then less gentle, later on. Because I didn't want him to be. And it was perfect, all of it."

"Even though you were in a warehouse?" said Willow.

"Even though we were in a warehouse," Buffy replied, with a smile that she hoped Willow would detect in her tone of voice. 

"Wow that sounds...pretty cool," said Willow. 

"It really was," Buffy replied.

She snuck a quick glance at Spike. He was turned half towards her on the bed, his eyes burning with emotion, his hand gripping her leg tightly as if he was worried she'd evaporate if he let her go. His other hand was at the small of her back, and he'd started doing that amazing circle-y thing again. Buffy closed her eyes.

"Sorry Will, I'm kind of tired. Do you mind if we catch up at school tomorrow?"

"Sure," she hesitated for a second, then said: "Buffy...thanks...for telling me."

"You're my best friend, who else would I tell my 'girl issues' to?" Buffy said, with a warm laugh. Willow giggled. 

"G'night, Buffy." 

"Night, Willow."

Buffy replaced the receiver in the cradle; the clicking sound it made sounded weirdly loud in the quiet room. She looked up at Spike again. He was grinning from ear to ear.

"Perfect?" he said, looking at her almost shyly from beneath his long eyelashes.

Buffy put her hand over the one on her thigh, and squeezed.

"Yeah," she said with a shy smile. 

"You're doing me a bit of a disservice, luv. If you thought that was perfect, means there's no reason to do it again. No way to improve on it. Might as well leave it at that." 

He shifted, pretending to stand up, but Buffy moved far more quickly, pivoting around one thigh and lifting her leg over his so she was suddenly astride him, her knees digging into the bed, her hands on his shoulders. 

"You're not going anywhere," she murmured, then let her whole weight settle on his lap, bearing down on the hardness she found there. 

Once she was sure she had his full attention, she rolled her hips, grinding herself against his cock. Buffy took his head in her hands and pulled him towards her, capturing his mouth in a urgent, desire-filled kiss. Then she broke it just as suddenly, pulling back.

"Who says you can't improve on perfection? Haven't you heard of giving something 110%?" she bit her lip flirtatiously. Spike purred.

"I'll show you just how good it can be, pet. Gonna eat you up, Slayer. Gonna make you scream," he said. He kissed her roughly, pulled her close to his chest, then stood up, turned round and tossed her down onto the bed. She bounced and fell back, her hair loose around her face, laughing up at him.

Spike threw his duster into the corner of the room, then tore off his T-shirt before crawling up the bed towards her, lithe and suddenly dangerous-looking: a big, bad wolf come to eat up grandmama.

"You make me so fucking hard, Buffy," he growled. "I'm drowning in you. Can't stand to be apart from you, not for a minute."

"Same," said Buffy, breathlessly. Spike's hands were on her waistband, tugging down her less-than-glamorous sweatpants. He cooed in pleasure when he found she wasn't wearing panties, then stroked her inner thighs, eliciting a sharp, delighted intake of breath. Buffy slid her butt down the bed, shimmying her pussy closer to his mouth. 

"Hmm, what could you possibly want right now?" he said, smiling wickedly up at her. She looked down at him; as she made eye contact he used two long fingers to part her folds, exposing her glistening clit, then blew across it, his breath cold and startling. She let out a yelp of surprise and tried to wriggle away, but he placed his hands on top of her thighs, gripping them, holding her in place as he leant forward to taste her, sliding his tongue into her delicious, buttery wetness. 

He lapped at her with smooth, firm strokes, occasionally suckling at her hard, pearlescent bud while she begged and grunted and gasped. The desperate cries coming out of her mouth were barely human, and they mingled with the frankly pornographic slurping noises Spike was making as he delightedly and enthusiastically ate her sopping wet cunt. 

"M-more, please." Buffy managed to stammer as she felt her orgasm start to build. "Please!" 

Spike didn't have to ask what she wanted, he knew. He brought his hand round to her opening and roughly shoved two fingers deep inside her, twisting them slightly before pulling out and plunging them back in again.

Buffy screamed so loudly that Spike flinched - aware that they were in her house, god knows what the neighbours would think- but there was no way he was going to stop fucking her. She could make as much noise as she wanted; they'd deal with the consequences afterwards.

Still licking her, he slid in a third finger to join the other two, feeling her tight pussy stretch and yield, parting to take him in. He turned his hand inside her, then made a beckoning motion, pushing his fingers firmly against her soft inner walls. Buffy let out a shattering cry as she finally came, her cunt clamping around his hand like a vice, hands pulling and tearing at his hair. 

Her muscles went completely rigid; she was screaming silently now - which was probably for the best. Eventually she relaxed, and he slid up her body, taking her in his arms, her tank-top clad breasts brushing against his bare chest. 

"So, did I improve on perfection?" he said with a smutty laugh. He kissed the top of her head and she chuckled hoarsely, sounding like a hardened smoker. Her throat was sore - she must have been so loud, she realised. Maybe next time she should shove the pillow in her mouth.

"Hmm, not quite," said Buffy, her hand idly stroking his chest, moving lower and lower with each circuit. "You've had your fun - now it's my turn."

She stroked his hard prick through his jeans, squeezing him, then sat up to undo his belt. He lay back and let her free his cock, one arm above his head, his scarred eyebrow cocked, surveilling her through half-closed eyes.

He breathed her name as she took him in her mouth, sucking on his smooth, flared, spongy head before pressing her tongue lightly into the small slit right at the tip. He moaned. 

Buffy turned her head to the side and began to lick and nibble his shaft from top to bottom, her hand gripping him firmly, pushing his dick upwards so it sat against his belly, giving her full access to the long, throbbing vein underneath, which she traced with her tongue. Spike shuddered, burying his hands in her hair. 

She moved lower and tentatively licked one of his balls, before taking the whole thing into her mouth, rolling it around her tongue.

"Christ," yelped Spike, startled, his hips rising from the bed, a clang coming from the metal frame as he banged his head against it in surprise. 

"Mmm," said Buffy, before moving slightly to the left to engulf the other one in her mouth, her hand constantly stroking his cock at the same time. 

"Oh god, Slayer, yes, suck my balls," he moaned, "feels...so...fucking...good..."

Pleased at the positive feedback she was getting, Buffy redoubled her efforts, making Spike cry out. His cool shaft pulsed and twitched against her hot fingers as she rubbed his aching prick, she could tell he was getting close...

Suddenly, Spike pushed her away, then grabbed her ankles and pulled - hard - forcing her onto her back. 

He parted her knees, positioning himself at her even-more-wet-than-ever entrance.

"Got to have you," he gasped, "need your tight, perfect quim around my cock when I come..."

He surged inside her in one fast, fluid motion, one hand cradling her head, tilting it up so she was looking at the place where their bodies joined. He wanted her to watch him slide into her for the second time that night. There was no pain: she was open, wet and ready for him, still stretched from his fingers earlier.

Spike almost sobbed as he buried his full length inside her, she felt so good, so right. It was as if they were made for each other. He took her quickly, roughly, his hand moving between them to finger Buffy's clit as he pounded her into the mattress. It felt so good to fuck on a bed, he thought, loving the way Buffy's breasts bounced every time he plunged back into her, the springs creaking in time with his wild thrusts. 

Buffy locked her ankles around his waist, urging him on. Her pussy fluttered lightly around his cock as she came. That, combined with the feeling of her heels drumming against his back, pushed him over the edge and he grunted, spasmed and shot his load inside her. 

It felt like it went on forever, spurt after spurt filling her completely. He pulled out and his spunk dribbled out to pool underneath her, forming a wet patch on the thin quilt that lay across the foot of her bed. After about a minute, he rolled over with a wearied, amazed laugh, tugging her against his side in a tight embrace.

"Not sure I can survive much more of this, pet. Think you might end up killin' me with that perfect, pretty little cunt of yours."

She blushed, in spite of everything. She was majorly turned on by Spike's foul mouth, but it still startled her to hear him use such filthy words so reverently and lovingly.

Spike looked over at her. Seeing her embarrassment, he caught her chin and forced her to look at him. Once he had her attention, he waxed lyrical, praising her various body parts as if he was reciting a pornographic epic poem. 

"You're beautiful, Buffy. Your sweet, delicious pussy - so wet for me - your gorgeous rosy tits, your tanned legs, that tight, pert, beautiful arse. Can't get enough of you, luv."

She blushed again, even more hotly, then forced herself to relax. It didn't really feel that logical to come over all coy and bashful. After all, she was practically swimming in his bodily fluids - and her own.

"You're not so bad yourself," she said, swiping at his arm playfully. As Spike opened his mouth, no doubt to say something else completely R-rated, Buffy heard the noise of the front door. 

She flinched in alarm, then leapt out of the bed, scrambling around on the floor for her sweatpants, pulling them on as quickly as she could. She threw Spike's T-shirt at his head. 

"Get dressed," she hissed. Then mouthed "it's my mom" at him. Spike looked almost as panicked as Buffy did as he struggled into his clothes, trying not to make too much noise as he tucked his still-semi-hard cock back into his jeans and hunted around for his boots. 

"Buffy, are you home?" her mom called up the stairs. Buffy grabbed Spike's leather duster and pushed it into his arms, backing him towards the open window.

"Yes mom," she shouted, then, in a quieter voice to Spike she said: "go, quickly. I'll see you tomorrow, I'll patrol at Restfield, meet me there as soon as its dark."

She kissed him, quickly, then stepped back and turned towards the door. Spike grabbed her and pulled her against him, kissing her lingeringly and deeply, then rested his forehead against hers. She sighed. More than anything, she wished he could spend the night. She wanted to fall asleep in his arms. 

"Bye, luv," he said, giving her one final squeeze. He climbed out of the window, pulling on his jacket before hopping down from the roof. Buffy felt a pang as she watched him leave - unable to move until he'd disappeared from view. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold. Her mom opened her door. 

"Buffy, it's nearly 1am. I thought you'd be asleep by now. You have school in the morning."

"Sure mom. I went to bed a while ago, I just got up to get a glass of water," lied Buffy, hoping her 'just-fucked' hair could double as 'been in bed for several hours already' hair.

She spotted the incriminating wet spot on the bed and hastily moved Mr Gordo on top of it, silently apologising to the innocent pig.

"Did you have a fun evening?" said Joyce.

"Yeah, it was...incredible," said Buffy with a broad, dazzling smile. "Best Halloween ever."

"Glad to hear it sweetie," she said. "Try to get some rest. You look exhausted." She turned away, then took a deep breath and looked back at Buffy over her shoulder.

"Oh, and you should probably put some concealer on those hickeys before class tomorrow."

She closed the door quickly before Buffy could react. The Slayer stared at the solid wood in shock, her cheeks burning. Then, after a few minutes of intense cringing, she turned to her closet and dug out a white turtleneck sweater for the morning.


	23. Chapter 23

The next morning, Buffy paired the hickey-hiding white turtleneck with a pink and purple plaid miniskirt and the knee-high boots that Spike was so taken with the night of the frat party. She considered wearing her hair down, then changed her mind and twisted it up into a chignon - trying to remember the exact way Cordelia had styled it a few days ago. She looked at herself in the floor-length mirror, pleased with what she saw. She looked good. Tired, and a bit paler than usual, but there were few outward signs of her sudden and unexpected descent into vampire based debauchery.

She applied a slick layer of cherry-blossom coloured lip gloss before grabbing her bag and heading downstairs, making a brave but ultimately futile attempt to sneak out of the front door.

"Just where do you think you're going, young lady?" asked Joyce. Buffy groaned and turned around. Her mom was standing in the archway that led towards the dining room, arms folded, a look of anxious determination on her face. It was, Buffy noted with dismay, her sex-talk expression. She'd only seen it once before, but it was still seared into her brain. 

"Um, school?" she replied.

"I made pancakes, and I want you to eat them while I quiz you about what you were doing last night."

Buffy rolled her eyes, but trailed behind her to the kitchen and threw her bag on the floor, sliding onto one of the breakfast counter stools. She prodded at her pancakes, listlessly, her entire being suffused with dread. This was way worse than facing a whole army of spider demons.

"So, you have a boyfriend..." prompted her mom. Buffy groaned again.

"Mom, it's...not like that," she said. Joyce's eyes narrowed.

"You don't have a boyfriend? Which means what, exactly? You've been necking with someone you're not even dating?"

Buffy blushed. "Mommmmmm," she cringed into her chair, wishing the Hellmouth would open and swallow her up.

"Buffy, you're 16...."

"Almost 17!"

"OK, fine, almost 17," said Joyce, turning back to the stove to prod the second batch of pancakes. "A lot of young men are going to want to...spend time with you. Just, be careful, that's all I ask. I was young once, too. I know that Halloween is a very erotic, sexually charged....oh."

The kitchen door slammed closed. Buffy was gone, sprinting across the grass, sheer mortification lending her extra speed.

\---

The first half of the day passed in a blur. Buffy sat in her English class, doodling aimlessly in the margins as her teacher droned on about hidden symbols in Jane Eyre. Willow had passed her several notes in history class earlier, asking her for more details about her night with Spike, but after nearly being caught and asked to read the note out, Buffy was very reluctant to write anything down. She didn't really want her classmates to know exactly what she thought about Spike's butt (i.e. that it was sick). 

"The red room symbolizes the way society traps Jane by limiting her freedom due to her class, gender, and independent streak," said Willow, brightly, in response to some question Buffy hadn't even heard.

She shifted in the hard seat - everything below her waist was sore...in a good way. It was incredibly distracting. Every time she moved she was met with an immediate, intimate reminder of everything that had happened the day before. She couldn't wait until it went dark so she could...Willow prodded her, hard.

"Buffy," she hissed.

"Huh?" Buffy looked up, confused. Her teacher was glaring at her.

"I said, Miss Summers, what do you think fire and ice symbolises in the novel?"

"Um," Buffy replied, frantically trying to remember what she'd read in the Cliffsnotes guide. "How...different they are? Er, Jane and Mr Rochester." She smiled placatingly. Her teacher tutted, but she sensed she'd just about gotten away with it this time.

"Not exactly, but you're on the right lines I suppose. Fire is a symbol of emotion. Mr Rochester has a fiery personality. Jane draws arctic scenes in her portfolio that symbolise death, she longs for the life and vitality that emotion brings, but she also sees its dangers. The inferno at Thornfield illustrates the danger of letting passion run wild, with no thought for the consequences."

Buffy bit her lip and looked at the floor; her ankles were twisted together beneath the desk, reminding her how she'd wrapped them around Spike's waist in her bedroom.

The bell rang, loudly, and she jumped.

\---

As soon as they were out of class, Willow dragged Buffy into the bathroom and hopped up to sit on the sink.

"So, enough with the 'I don't kiss and tell' act, tell me how you're doing, Buffy. I know last night was a big deal, to say the least. Are you OK?"

Buffy flushed and ducked her head. 

"I'm fine, Will, honestly. Totally a-OK. Great, even."

"Was it really..." Willow lowered her voice to a dreamy whisper "...perfect?"

"Um...yeah? Like, I know I have no frame of reference but, well, all the right things all seemed to happen. Very very good things. A lot of them."

"You mean...you...er...found your happy place?"

"Yes. A lot. Multiple times. He's...incredibly good at the sex." 

Buffy laughed, despite her embarrassment. It felt so good to talk to Willow about Spike as if he was just some cute boy in their class - even if it was a bit weird.

"Oh Buffy, that's amazing. I'm...really pleased for you. Everyone says your first time is supposed to be great but...my mom said it's usually super disappointing. She went into a LOT of detail about it. I think she was drawing on her own experiences. After a while I just pretended I'd gone deaf."

The bell rang again, and they both sighed. 

"The only thing is, I don't know what to do about Angel," said Buffy. "He's so hurt. I mean, he's being a bit of an ass but we were really close - I had feelings for him. I still do, I guess."

"Do you have feelings for Spike?" asked Willow. Buffy bit her lip, then nodded.

"Yeah, I do. And to be honest, they feel more real than the feelings I had - have - for Angel. But Spike is a literal soulless killer; it does feel like things are moving way too fast. A few days ago I was wondering what exact shade of lip gloss would make Angel want to smooch me at the Bronze, now I'm mentally going through Cosmo's sex tips thinking 'what new thing can I try tonight that will make this sexy vampire yell my name?'"

Now it was Willow's turn to blush.

"But are these feelings now feelings, or are they premature future Buffy feelings?" she asked.

"Guess that's the big question," said Buffy with a shrug. "But all I know is that I can't think of anything else at the moment."

\---

As soon as it got just about dark enough to dart safely from shadow to shadow, Spike left the mausoleum where he'd spent the day fitfully dozing (in between athletic bouts of wanking to thoughts of the Slayer's luscious little tits and tight, wet, ravishing cunt). It was a long time since the frat party; he was ravenous and wondering what the hell to do about it. Buffy had made her views on killing hapless pedestrians perfectly clear, but maybe he could just have a bit of a nibble on one, leave them alive and sort of kicking...maybe?

His hunt for someone to half-eat took him to a nearby playground, where a little boy was spinning idly on a merry-go-round, looking a bit like a rotisserie chicken to Spike's hunger-crazed eyes. He took a half step towards the kid, then stopped. If she'd be furious at him for eating an adult, snacking on this child would be a one way ticket to stake city, population: him.

As Spike was wrestling with the conundrum of how the hell to keep the Slayer in his life without actually dying of starvation, an ethereal, white-clad figure appeared at the edge of his vision and started to make its way towards the boy.

"Are you lost?" said the apparition to the uneasy youngster in a lilting, sing-song voice.

Oh for fuck sake, Spike thought. What was she doing out and about? You just couldn't get reliable minions these days. He walked over to Dru and positioned himself between her and the kid.

"My Spike!" said Drusilla, her face lighting up briefly, before her cheeriness was quickly replaced by a black cloud.

"You left me," she said, sullenly.

"I'm sorry love," said Spike, meaning it. "Just had some stuff to do. Also, you did tie me up and torture me a bit, in case you were forgettin' that detail."

She continued to sulk, and while she was distracted, the little boy took the opportunity to run away as fast as he could. Spike reached out a placatory hand towards Dru, partly to distract her so she wouldn't chase the lad, but also because she looked so forlorn and lost. She flinched away from him. Neither of them noticed Buffy appearing on the roof of the building next to the playground.

"My dear boy's gone all away, hasn't he? To her," said Drusilla, swaying slightly from side to side.

"Who?" replied Spike, knowing exactly who she meant.

"The girl. The Slayer. Your heart stinks of her. But it's not time yet. You're still supposed to be mine, my pet. Little lost lamb can't have you." Her face contorted in confusion and distress.

"Drusilla, go back to the factory, love. You shouldn't be going out. You're all weak." He brushed a strand of hair away from her pale face. Above them, Buffy tensed.

"My tummy was growly," Dru said, pouting. "Where's that yummy little treat I spied before? I want to eat him up."

That tipped Buffy over the edge. She jumped down from the roof and landed beside the vampires, stake in hand. She lunged towards Drusilla and grabbed her arm, spinning her so the sharp wood was pressed against her chest.

"No!" exclaimed Spike. "Let her go, please?" Buffy glanced over at him, her eyes narrowed.

"Why?" she said, her voice like ice water. "She cut you up pretty bad the other day. Why do you care if I stake her?"

"It's complicated. She's my..." his voice faltered. Buffy lowered the stake, keeping her eyes fixed on Drusilla, who was babbling softly while staring up at the stars, her eyes large, dewy and unfocused.

"She's your what, Spike?" said Buffy tightly.

"She's my sire. She turned me into a vampire, and there's a lot of baggage that comes with that. Sex, death, love...gratitude, of sorts. Still care about her, want to protect her. Can't just switch that off." Spike looked sullen and uncomfortable, as if he'd admitted far too much. Buffy stepped back. 

"Fine," she said, surprising him. "But if she puts a foot wrong, or kills any more people, she's dead. And so are you, for that matter." She forced herself to say the last sentence, staring at the jungle gym, not trusting herself to meet his gaze.

"Got to eat, sunny girl," said Drusilla. "Or we'll end up all dried up, blowing in the wind."

"She's got a point, Slayer," said Spike, softly.

"Do what Angel does," said Buffy. "He gets pig's blood from the butcher's. You can eat that."

Drusilla hissed and spat, and Spike had to put his hand on her shoulder to stop the furious vampire launching herself at Buffy.

"Daddy wouldn't eat nasty, cold, dead blood," Drusilla spat. Buffy started at that. 

"What does she mean?" She asked Spike. He looked back at her, curiously.

"What? About Angel?" 

Buffy nodded. 

"He's her sire," said Spike. "He turned her. Not that nicely, either. Thought he might have told you." 

"There's a lot he didn't tell me, it seems," Buffy replied. She rubbed her face, looking suddenly weary.

"I'm going to go patrol," she said. "Spike, I meant what I said earlier. No feeding. Keep her out of trouble and I'll let her live. But if she kills anyone at all - nothing will stop me staking her."

Or you, the unspoken words hovered in the air. Spike nodded, once, sharply. He put his arm around Dru and began to lead her away from the park. He stopped after a few yards and looked back. Buffy was still watching him, a pained expression on her face. 

He'd have to go to her later, soothe her, reassure her that...oh god, he was really going to do it, wasn't he? He was going to have to give up human blood, just like that big ponce. Fuck, what the hell was this chit of a girl doing to him?

\---

Buffy spent the rest of the patrol in a froth of disappointment and jealousy. Seeing Spike with the 'dark princess' he'd boasted about in the crypt had really hammered home exactly what he was. He was a vampire, she was a Slayer. She needed to stop thinking about how he'd looked at her before jumping out of her window last night, his soft, blue eyes full of affection and adoration. He was a monster, and his devotion to that seriously creepy-ass bride of Frankenstein just proved that.

She staked the few fledges who were unlucky enough to cross her path with such force that she almost broke her hand - one had been standing in front of a wall and as her fist punched through its disintegrating body it connected with the hard brick, making her swear and yelp in pain. She walked through the cemetery inspecting her bloody, scraped knuckles. A doozy of a headache was starting to build; she rubbed her eyes and sudden pain lanced through her - way worse than she was expecting. 

She fell to her knees on the grass...and then carried on falling, passing through the earth into the ground below. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. She felt soil all around her and she scrabbled at it frantically, digging her way upwards, terror lending her strength. She felt so cold, as if death had already taken her. Finally, her hands broke through the dirt and she scrabbled at the turf she felt beneath her hands, dragging herself up and out of what she was fairly sure was - somehow - her own grave, although the plot was empty and bare.

She lay on the ground, panting for breath, then eventually struggled to her feet, wobbly and unsure. Buffy looked down, expecting to find a rough, clawed hole beside her, but there was nothing there. Her headache was gone, too. 

The whole thing had seemed completely real, horrifically real, in fact. Shaking, she stumbled away from the cemetery in the direction of Giles's house, feeling chilled to the bone, and deeply, heart-poundingly unsettled.


	24. Chapter 24

"So, you had a hallucination that you were...pulled into the ground?" asked Giles, looking concerned. 

"It wasn't a hallucination," she replied. "It was real, I felt the dirt all around me. I had to dig myself out."

"But you say there was no sign of any disturbance afterwards?"

Buffy shook her head, then held out her hands.

"No, but look."

Her fingers were black, clumps of soil lodged deeply under the nail beds. Grit was embedded into the cuts on her knuckles. Her clothes, in contrast, were clean. Giles frowned, then turned to inspect a book on his desk.

"I think this might be a sort of echo- a very vivid one. Something from an alternate timeline, perhaps, or even your own future. The damage caused by that extra-dimensional demon could well be spreading, destabilising your memories, making you experience things out of time. If so..."

"Will it get worse?" said Buffy, her voice uncharacteristically small. Whatever has happened in the cemetery had been next-level horrible. She'd felt...broken. Decayed.  
  
"I don't know, Buffy. I'm sorry, I wish I could give you clearer answers. It might. But I'll find a way to stop it, I promise. For now, just try to rest. I'll take you home - though it might be a good idea to wash your hands first. Your mother might be a bit confused if you show up at the door looking like you've been..."

"Clawing my way out of my own grave?"

"Er, yes, quite."

\--- 

Buffy lay in bed, unable to relax. It had taken five separate attempts to scrub her hands clean and they were red, chapped and sore. She shivered again at the memory of the dark earth pressing all around her. She never wanted to be buried, she decided, cremation all the way, for sure. Or maybe she could demand that her friends take her body out to sea and then drop it in the ocean? Her mind spiralled, imagining ever more morbid scenarios, including being turned into a vampire and then dusted by whichever Slayer came after her.

After a miserable hour spent tossing and turning in her far too cheerful sushi pyjamas, she heard a light knocking at the window. She frowned and swung her legs out of bed, determined to be haughty and unyielding. She wasn't about to let Spike come crawling back to her with Dru-breath, no way.

As she'd expected, he was lurking outside her window, looking agitated but hopeful. He shot her a charming, crooked smile. She glared back at him, folding her arms.

"Not going to invite me in, pet?" he said.

"I thought once you were invited you could always just walk in," she replied, huffily.

"I can. I was just being polite."

He dropped into her room. She stepped back, then went to sit on her bed, wrapping her arms around herself. 

"My mom's home," she said in a whisper. She suddenly felt very tired and extremely, unusually vulnerable. Spike walked across to sit beside her and she couldn't resist resting her head on his shoulder, despite her determination to be frosty and aloof. He put his arm around her, pulling her closer. Buffy screwed her eyes closed against the tears, but they began to fall regardless, dripping soundlessly into her lap.

"What's wrong, kitten? Hey, c'mere," he tilted her head up and looked into her red-rimmed eyes. He kissed her lightly. "What is it?"

"I've just...had a bad night." 

"Are you upset about Dru? 'Cause that's not a thing any more, I promise. Jus' have to do right by her. She's shut up in the factory, safe and sound. Won't let her eat anyone, you've my word on that."

Buffy sniffled and shook her head.

"It's not that. Well, not just that - I didn't exactly love seeing you with her. But there's something else. I had a sort of vision after you'd left. In the graveyard. It was so real, though. I'm sure it really happened - or hasn't happened yet. Or happened in an alternative reality. Giles thinks it's linked to what's going on with us. Things happening out of order. I think I was buried alive, and I had to..." she couldn't finish her sentence. 

"Buffy, fuck, love. That's bloody horrible, I...know what that's like," he squeezed her again. "Were you in a coffin?"

She shook her head, "no, just underground, only a couple of feet below the surface. Maybe I...the other me...had already done the whole coffin-escaping bit."

Buffy began to cry in earnest. Spike eased her back onto the bed so she was lying down, then settled himself beside her, engulfing her in his arms, letting her head rest on his chest as he stroked her hair. Eventually she relaxed, her fingers curled around his cheek. 

"What's to be done about it?" said Spike. 

Buffy shrugged and lifted her head.

"I went to Giles. He's gone into researchy-mode. He thinks these...time slips...might get worse. I'm not sure how it could get worse, though. Tonight was majorly messed up."

Spike ran one hand down her arm and she shivered, nestling closer to him.

"Stay with me tonight?" she whispered.

"Can't, pet," said Spike, sounding pained. "Your mum..."

Buffy sighed, then sat up. 

"Is there somewhere we could go? At least...for a while? I don't think she'll notice if I sneak out as long as I'm back before she wakes up."

Spike grinned. "Sure. Got just the place."

\---

Buffy looked around at the mausoleum, amazed at the transformation. It was lit by a series of huge, wide-based candles, left burning while Spike was out to - in his words - "deter thieving wankers." 

"I thought you said you'd never want to live in a crypt," she said, taking it all in.

"Needs must, love," he replied. "An' anyway, it's not that bad. It's..."

"Comfy," said Buffy, with a smile. Spike laughed. 

"Yeah," he replied.

She took his hand and pulled him over to the makeshift bed in the corner: a king sized mattress surrounded by candles, covered in plump, black cushions and red silk sheets. It was verging on tacky, but she loved it. It was extremely on brand, as if he'd gotten it from a furniture shop that specialised in his favourite colours. Sp-ikea, she thought, amused. She'd have to share that joke with him...afterwards.

She turned Spike round and pushed him, hard, sending him falling backwards onto the bed. As soon as he was horizontal, she leapt on top of him, covering his face with fierce, desperate kisses, hands tearing at his shirt. He took hold of her wrists, gently, forcing her to look him in the eyes, quieting her urgent, frantic movements.

"Steady, pet," he said. She shook her head and then struggled against his grip. She wanted it rough and hard, she needed to forget...

"Shh, shh," he soothed, then took hold of her waist. She resisted a little as he flipped her over, but then relaxed and let him ease her out of her clothes before sitting up and quickly stripping off his own. She reached her arms out, feeling chilled without him, even though he was no warmer than the cool, damp air.

Spike covered her with his body, kissing her, teasing her mouth open with his tongue. She sucked on it and he moaned. She could feel his erection against her thigh, the whole, lovely, long length of him, and she reached down to circle his shaft with her fingers, stroking him languorously, her earlier fierce desperation giving way to a luxurious, spiralling heat deep in her belly.

"Mmm, Slayer, love your hot little hand on my cock," he muttered, nuzzling into her neck. He breathed her in, trying to ignore the insistent thrumming of her pulse and the way her jugular vein throbbed warmly beneath his tongue. He felt his face begin to change as he fought the urge to sink his fangs into her neck. He shivered.

"Do you want to bite me?" she whispered, still playing with his hard prick. She reached between her legs to touch herself, then brought her wet fingers back to caress him, her palm pleasingly slick as it moved up and down.

"Yes," he said, thickly. "But I won't."

Buffy shifted, opening her legs and steering him towards her aching cunt. She rubbed his cock up and down her soaking pussy lips, then teased her own clit with the spongy, yielding tip, using it like an extension of her own fingers, feeling her pleasure build while he gasped and grunted above her. After about a minute of this delicious torture she couldn't bear it any longer and lifted her hips, letting him bury himself inside her, as smooth and cool as a sword sliding into a scabbard. They both moaned as Spike started to fuck her with light, darting, shallow thrusts.

"Maybe I...uh...want you to," she breathed into his ear. He tensed for a moment, but didn't stop the intense, maddening little jabs, his curved dick hitting her g-spot perfectly each time he moved. She twitched against him on every down stroke, both arms around his back.

"No, luv. Can't," he muttered, lust and pleasure rendering him even more monosyllabic than usual. He carried on screwing her and she opened her legs wider, grabbing his ass, trying to pull him deeper.

"Why?" she gasped. He sped up, plunging into her more forcefully now, finally giving her the rough, fast pounding she'd been craving when she'd first pushed him down on the bed. He kissed her neck again, then ran his tongue over the soft skin there. She felt his erection swell inside her and she could tell he was close. She started to fuck him back more vigorously, loving the slapping sound their bodies made as they rutted against each other. 

He was grunting animalistically now; she loved the guttural, desperate sounds he made. Her vampire.

"It's - ah - fuck, love, your pussy feels so good, so tight, milking my cock, don't stop - it's an act of - Christ yes, do that again."

"What? What does it mean? Tell me," she demanded, slowing her movements, purposefully throwing off their rhythm. He growled in frustration.

"Love, Buffy. It's an act of love - drinking from you - while we're fucking - marking you, it's a bonding ritual. Not something you do on a whim."

She looked up at him, then started to move her hips again, grinding her clit against his pelvic bone, rekindling the flame that had been gradually building between her legs. She slid her hands up to the back of his head and pulled him down, kissing him, before forcing his mouth open and rubbing her tongue against the little nubs that hid his fangs. He jerked against her and she broke the kiss with a gasp.

"So, do you?" she asked.

Now it was Spike's turn to falter and slow down.

"Do I what?"

"Love me?"

They looked at each other for a long moment.

"Bit of a heavy thing to hit a bloke with at a time like this, pet," he said.

"I think you do," she said, with a coy smile.

"Cocky little bint, aren't you?" he replied.

"Quite literally, at the moment." She was pinned to the bed by his hard prick like a butterfly on a collector's board. She tensed her internal muscles, squeezing him. A noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper escaped his lips.

"Answer my question. Do you love me?"

"For fuck sake, you know full well I do. Fell in love the very first time I tasted your delicious pussy right over there, love you even more now. You're burned into every part of me, Slayer. You're in my head, my heart, can't think about anything else." 

There was a slight crack in his voice. Buffy kissed him again.

"Good. Love you too," she said, simply. "Now fuck me, Spike, please. I..."

Before she could finish her sentence, Spike's eyes widened in shock and delight, and his lips came crashing down onto hers in a passionate, heated, love-filled kiss. Then he lifted her legs over his shoulders. 

"Gonna take you hard now, Buffy. Can I? Please? Can't hold back, need you so badly."

She nodded, looking up at him, dazed and enraptured. His hard, pale chest and muscled stomach were pressed against the back of her thighs, his lips were parted and he looked beautiful, ageless and wanton - her very own Cupid, who'd pierced her with his arrows several times over. 

He slammed into her relentlessly, more deeply than ever before. She screamed as his long, thick prick hit the neck of her cervix, battering against that most sensitive of barriers. She locked her ankles around his neck and he grabbed hold of her shoulders, his arm muscles as taut as bow strings. Boldly, Buffy reached down to finger herself, rubbing her clit with one hand while the other reached up to play with her nipple, rolling it between her fingers. Spike's eyes lit up.

"Oh yes, luv. Good girl. Play with those beautiful tits. Touch your pretty pussy, that's it, love. Let me watch you rub your lovely wet cunny, mmmm...so hot, get yourself off, come for me..." 

His dirty, loving, filthy endearments filled her ears, getting her hotter and more worked up than she ever thought possible. Her first orgasm caught her by surprise and she arched up into him, dazzling lights blazing behind her eyelids. Then, as she was coming back down, a second wave hit her, even stronger than before, and she thrashed and bellowed. She took her hand away but he quickly replaced it with his own, using his thumb to stroke her in firm little circles. She was so sensitive that it was almost painful, and she gasped in shock as a third orgasm hit, blooming up inside her like a mushroom cloud. Every single muscle in her body tensed, and as she shuddered in his arms she felt his mouth on her neck. 

She reached a shaking hand up to stroke his face and felt the bumps and ridges there, tracing them with her soft fingers.

"Yes," she breathed. "Do it, please."

Spike came - hard - as soon as his fangs slid into her skin, pumping his cool seed inside her as her warm blood flooded his mouth. As he sucked and pulled at her neck, a fourth orgasm hit her - more intense than all the others put together. Her vision whited out and she was gone, lost, unravelled, spiralling down into darkness.

She came back to her senses a minute later to find him crouched anxiously beside her.

"Buffy, love, are you ok? Did I hurt you?" he said. It was almost comical how scared he looked, with his mouth smeared with her blood. 

She laughed and drew him to her. She grabbed one arm and put it behind her head like a pillow, then pulled the other into her lap so she was cradled in his embrace, her right hand resting on his left wrist, petting him lovingly.

"I'm fine. You just made me come so hard I passed out, that's all," she said, looking up at him shyly. He puffed out his chest, looking extremely happy, then kissed the top of her head. 

"Not too bad, then?" he said, smiling.

"Yeah, it was OK," she teased. 

"Buffy?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

She lifted his hand and pressed her lips against his cool, soft palm.

"I love you too."


	25. Chapter 25

Willow, Giles and Xander were whispering to each other in hushed tones when Buffy walked into the library the next morning. They stopped speaking as soon as they saw her. 

"What is it?" Buffy asked, feeling suddenly anxious. She hurried over to them, very aware of the fact that they were all avoiding eye contact. They'd found out something bad, she could tell.

She'd been planning to open with her most recent memory, or hallucination or whatever. This morning, when she got back to the house at 6am after going a few more rounds with Spike, she'd opened the door of the spare room to check on her sister. A sister she didn't have. 

Buffy had stumbled in shock when she'd seen the dark room, filled with boxes and weird old ornaments. Her sister's name had been on the tip of her tongue, but she forgot it again immediately. She could see her, though: long, dark hair, a sulky expression on her face. Her recollections of the girl were real, Buffy knew it. But she didn't exist, at least, not in this reality.

She wondered how many other people were missing from her life, without her even realising it.

"We found something in one of the oldest books," said Willow, jerking Buffy out of her reverie. She handed the giant tome over - it weighed a ton.

"Jeez, Will, did you look through this whole thing? It makes War and Peace look like Goodnight Moon."

Willow smiled, easing the weird tension in the room. 

"I did a lot of skimming. Once you've seen one unspeakably terrifying abomination from a demon dimension with a body that's a mass of writhing tentacles, you've seen 'em all."

Buffy looked down at the book. It was open at a page that appeared to show some kind of ritual, though the page was faded and spotted with age. Four hooded figures - who looked a little like priests but with bare, tattooed chests visible beneath their robes - stood around a prone, naked man. His skin had been flayed and pinned in place like demon's wings, attaching him to the ground. They were in a round room, surrounded by columns. One held the man's head, another appeared to be doing the 'Y' bit of the YMCA, a third was holding what looked like another, small section of flayed skin, which had strange markings on it. The fourth was raising a deadly looking blade.

However, the thing that really caught her eye was the horrific entity that was bursting from the skinless victim's chest while he screamed in agony.

It looked like a mass of feelers, but also like billowing, rotting cloth, and a little bit like a tornado in reverse. It was...wrong. Grotesque.

The thing gave her the creeps so much that Buffy almost dropped the book. She pushed it back into Willow's hands, shuddering. She pulled a jokey disgusted face to cover her discomfort, like she'd just downed a shot of vinegar.

"Colour me seriously wigged," she said. "So, what's the sitch? Does that ooky demon thing have something to do with my current 'remembering things that didn't happen' problem?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," said Giles, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This image is a rare depiction of the ritual of Xagodos. The thing being summoned is Xugotha, also known as the Abomination in the Abyss. Or, less imaginatively, the Thing in the Pit. It's a more powerful relative of the spine-covered monster that attacked you in the cemetery. We've found out a lot more about them, thanks to Willow's sleuthing. They're not rare, they're unique. They're malignant beings of great power that do not belong in our realm of existence, and each of them has a different name. They bring madness and temporal disorientation to those they come into contact with - not to mention good, old fashioned slashing and decapitation."

"That sounds...not of the good," said Buffy, sitting down. 

"Er, no," said Giles. "Buffy, I'm afraid you've been poisoned by the substance the entity exuded from its claws. You'll continue to experience these time slips unless we track down whoever carried out the summoning ritual and destroy the cadaver they used to open the gateway between the worlds. When the portal is sealed, any lingering effects on this reality should be undone."

"And if we don't?" she asked.  
  
"I'm afraid that there's a very good chance that you'll first go insane, then become catatonic."

"Cata-what now?" 

"You'll stop speaking and communicating, you'll be unaware of what is going on around you. It's a little bit like a coma, but you'll seem to be awake. It's unlikely you'll ever recover."

Everyone was looking at her, their faces twisted with worry. She hated it when they did that. She just shrugged.

"OK then, so...how do we find whichever weird creepy murderer turned some guy's chest into a mini Hellmouth?" asked Buffy.

"That, we don't know," said Xander, apologetically. "But we're working on it! Well, Willow is. We know what supplies they would have had to buy to carry out the ritual - and it's a lot of stuff. We're talking 57 varieties of powdered demon butts. Will's hacked into the magic shop records and she's tracking down the order histories for the last few weeks. Once she's figured out who bought the ritual ingredients, we can track them down and get with some serious ass whooping." 

Xander did an adorably nerdy karate chop to underline his point, and Buffy smiled.

Giles cleared his throat.

"There's one other thing, Buffy. The texts are very clear on this. When we destroy the portal....it will reset events. Well, your memory of events anyway. You won't remember anything that happened after the demon attacked you. Spike, too, as he was also affected by the creature's poison. It will, effectively, wipe the slate clean. For both of you."

Buffy's looming insanity and catatonia hasn't appeared to trouble her all that much, but this piece of news most certainly did. She went deathly pale beneath her valley girl perma-tan, and her hand started to tremble. Willow reached across the table and held it.

"No, that can't happen," said Buffy, weakly. "That's not an option."

Giles sighed. 

"Look, Buffy, I know you've grown fond of Spike, well, this more well rounded version of him, anyway. But the alternative is losing your mind. We have to close the portal."

Buffy looked up at him, her green eyes brimming with tears. They looked like two deep, limpid, mossy pools.

"Will closing the portal undo things that have happened? Or will I just not remember them?"

"It won't turn back time, no," Giles replied. "Anyone who didn't come into contact with the demon will still remember events. But you won't. You also won't remember any snippets of the future you've gleaned from your visions, either."

Buffy held his gaze. 

"No," she replied, coolly. "You have to find a way that I can keep my memory." 

Giles opened his mouth to speak, but - for the first time since they'd met - Buffy shushed him. He looked startled. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Giles, do you really want to have to explain to your amnesiac, post-portal-closey Slayer why she isn't a virgin anymore? Because I'm not sure I'll deal, especially when you tell me who the lucky guy was. And I definitely won't deal with the fact I'll never, ever get to remember what it was like," she paused, aware that everyone was staring at her.

"Look, I'm very aware I'm not a normal girl who will ever get to live a normal life, but one thing I did hope for is that I'd get to experience this fairly major rite of passage without having it taken away from me. I don't want to lose my memory. I can't. Please, help me to find a way around this."

Her Watcher's eyebrows shot up, reaching heights she'd never seen them achieve before. 

"Dear God," he said. He slumped against the information desk, shakily removing his glasses.

"And, for the record," she said, squeezing Willow's hand for reassurance. "I haven't just grown fond of him. I love him."

Giles was beyond speechless. His mouth opened and closed like a fish.

"Buffy, you can't be serious?" said Xander, looking angry. "He's a vicious killer."

"He's given up human blood," Buffy shot back, defensively.

"Oh, and you've just taken his word for it, have you?" said Xander, his tone confrontational and - frankly - quite shitty. It was around the Defcon II mark in the lexicon of squabble.

Buffy pressed her lips together, forming a thin, furious line. She didn't know it, but at that moment she looked exactly like her mom: her glare was a Joyce special. Xander baulked and backed off when he saw her expression.

"Enough, please," said Giles, sounding thoroughly exhausted. "I'm...going to get Miss Calendar."

"I thought you weren't speaking to her?" said Willow. "You know, because of the whole 'not telling you she was secretly a Romany gypsy sent to keep watch over Angel and make sure he continued to live a tormented existence' thing?"

"Yes, well, that was the case. But she did apologise, at length. And her tribe did suffer terribly at the hands of Angelus. Plus, I really think this situation requires a woman's touch. And I need some moral support, and brandy. We can meet later today, after school."

"So, you're saying I just need to go and attend all my classes today as if nothing is happening, and ignore the fact I'm at risk of either going insane or losing my memory?" said Buffy, frowning.

"Er, um, yes. I'm afraid so," replied Giles.

"Great," she said. She grabbed her bag and left, without waiting for Xander. Willow shot him an apologetic glance, and then scurried to catch up with her friend.

\---

Buffy felt tired and strung out by the time the final bell rang. All she wanted to do was rush out and find Spike; hunker down in his comfy crypt and pretend none of this was happening.

It would have been a lot easier to pretend that everything was fine if she hadn't spent a large portion of her lunch hour entirely convinced that there was a giant snake demon in the school grounds that was chasing and killing her fellow students, but hey. 

She dragged herself back to the library reluctantly, heading for the rear door. Giles had asked the Scoobies to try and slip in a bit more subtly, as their regular after school study sessions had led to a few searching questions in the teachers' lounge, along the lines of "why do you spend all of your spare time with a very attractive blonde teenager?"

As Buffy approached the back entrance, she heard a strange shuffling, moaning noise behind her. She span round just in time to leap out of the way of a middle-aged woman in quite an advanced state of going all gross and drippy.

The zombie-thing took a swipe at her chest, and Buffy retaliated with a high kick, sending it crashing to the ground. It got up again and started shambling towards her. It certainly seemed real, but it was pretty hard to be sure given her current failing grip on reality. She punched it in the face, as hard as she could. It shook itself, but kept on coming.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me," said Buffy. 

She turned, opened the library door and ran inside, the zombie hot on her heels. She dodged through the stacks and then leaped down the stairs, almost landing on Willow. There was no sign of Giles, and a grumpy Xander had already gone home, saying that if she needed help so much maybe Spike could come and pore through crappy old books instead of him.

"Buffy, what is it?!" asked Willow. 

"Not sure," gasped the Slayer. "Might be a hallucination."

The undead woman lurched into view, her arms outstretched like a cartoon mummy. Willow's eyes widened in shock. 

"Nope, I see her too. Not a figment. Definitely un-figmenty," she said, then yelped as the shambling corpse shuffled closer. She ran to hide behind Buffy, who backed away slowly. 

At that moment, Giles and Miss Calendar burst through the library doors. As soon as he saw the zombie, Giles screeched to an abrupt halt, turning as pale as old milk. 

"D- Dierdre?" he stuttered. It turned her head in his direction, making a snarling noise. Buffy looked from the distracted demon to the empty lock-up, an idea forming in her head. 

She front-flipped over the grey-faced, twinset and pearl wearing ghoul and kicked it in the back, propelling it inside, arms flailing. Buffy slammed the door closed just before it could get back out. It threaded its grey, rotting fingers through the wire, shaking it violently.

"Hey, stop rattling my cage," Buffy quipped. It wasn't one of her best comebacks by a long shot, but she'd had a really long day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much again to everyone who has left such kind comments about my first-ever Buffy fic, it means a lot. Another chapter will be up tomorrow (10 Jan). I'd say I'm about five or six chapters from the end, now, assuming the characters continue to do what they're told. I've found that's not always the case.


	26. Chapter 26

Giles walked across to the cage slowly, staring at its decaying inhabitant, looking appalled. 

"Do you know her?" asked Miss Calendar, moving to stand beside him.

"Yes," he said, quietly. "She is...was...a friend of mine in London. I haven't spoken to her in twenty years."

"Well, I'm not going to get close enough to her to feel her pulse, but she looks dead," said Willow. 

The thing watched them, silently, its yellow eyes glowing in the dim light. It bared her teeth as Giles approached, then started to rattle the bars again.

"Hey, stop that!" exclaimed Buffy. "Bad zombie."

The telling off didn't work. Dierdre broke the door open and launched herself at Willow, knocking down Miss Calendar in the process. Buffy quickly moved between them and kicked the corpse in the chest three times, forcing it back against the cage. The undead woman began to convulse and choke, then collapsed on the floor beside Jenny, turning into a large puddle of blue goo, which touched her outstretched fingers.

"Now there's something you don't see every day," said Willow. 

"What?" said Spike, suddenly appearing at the top of the stairs, making them jump. He was holding a tall, lanky man up in the air by his collar. Spike was quite a bit shorter than him, but nevertheless his slowly rotating victim was turning a deep shade of purple.

Buffy's face lit up immediately.

"Spike!" she exclaimed, fighting the urge to run to him and hurl herself into his leather-clad arms.

"Hi gorgeous," he replied, with a sultry, cheeky grin.

"Spike, what are you doing here?" said Giles, who was kneeling beside Jenny. 

Spike looked a bit affronted. 

"Getting dark. Came to find Buffy. It's a free country, isn't it?" he glared at Giles. 

Buffy looked at the man Spike was holding, her puzzled expression quickly turning into one of deeply pissed-off recognition.

"Hey, I know you! You sold me that dress for Halloween and almost got us all killed!" she snapped. Spike turned his head to look at his prisoner, snarled, and then vamped out.

"You did what?" he said, fangs bared. He looked absolutely terrifying. Willow cringed; Buffy took a step forward. 

"But she looked great, didn't she?" said the man, his head tilted at an awkward angle. Buffy had to admire his confidence.

"That's Ethan Reyne," said Giles, standing up. "Where did you find him?"

"He was in the back. Caught him snooping about. Pal of yours, is he?" said Spike.

"No, not in the slightest," Giles replied. He turned to Ethan. "I thought I told you to leave town," he said, eyes narrowing. 

"Yes, Ripper, you did. I didn't. The shop's lease is paid until the end of the month," said Ethan. "Like the vampire said, it's a free country."

"Can I bite him yet?" asked Spike, his fangs moving ever closer to the man's exposed neck. Giles ignored him.

"You put these people in danger. People I care about," said Giles in a low, menacing tone. 

"Look, call off your vampire," Ethan replied. "Then we can talk."

"He's not my vampire," said Giles, angrily.

"No, he's mine," said Buffy. "Spike, give the bad man to Giles, please."

Spike glowered for a minute, then shoved Ethan towards the Watcher. The rogue warlock staggered forward, only to find himself grabbed by the hair by Giles and forced into a nearby chair. Willow and Buffy exchanged surprised looks. Buffy mouthed the word "Ripper?" at Will, who shrugged. 

"So, Ripper, has Eyghon been playing silly buggers with your dreams, too?" said Ethan, stretching out his legs as if he'd just settled down to watch TV after a long day.

"What dreams? Who's Eyghon?" said Buffy. "What's going on here? I can only deal with one major crisis at a time. Two, tops."

"Stay out of this, Buffy, please," said Giles, tightly. 

Miss Calendar groaned and started to sit up, so Buffy swallowed the annoyed reply she had prepared. Giles was at her side in a flash, his face a mask of concern. He took hold of her arm in one hand and pressed the other to her cheek. 

"Careful, careful," he said, gently. "Can you stand?"

"I...I think so," said Miss Calendar. 

"I'm going to take her home," said Giles, addressing the room. "Keep Ethan here, tied up. Spike, don't eat him. Buffy, don't listen to anything he says. Willow, make sure they both do as they're told. I'll be back soon."

He left, and Spike, Willow, Buffy and Ethan fell silent. Ethan watched them, warily. Spike glowered, wishing he could just take Buffy and leave. Willow just looked alarmed, and Buffy seemed unusually thoughtful. She walked over to the chest in the open cage and pulled out a length of rope, then advanced on Ethan. 

"Oh come on, no need for that, is there?" said the warlock, a pleading look in his eyes.

Behind him, Spike growled, a low rumbling, tearing, feral noise deep in his throat. Ethan sighed and put his hands behind his back, letting Buffy tie him up. Then she sat down in a nearby chair, feeling weirdly tired again. Spike went to stand beside her, and she reached up to take his hand in hers. He squeezed it, then ran his fingers through her hair.

Ethan looked at them, eyebrows raised. "Bloody hell," he said. "The Slayer's getting sexy with a vampire. Rupert must be bloody furious!"

"Yeah, he is," said Spike, looking quite proud. Buffy shot him a Look. It was not unlike the one she'd silenced Xander with earlier. 

"What?" he said, confused. "You told me all about it last night, just after you did that thing with your...." he yelped as she twisted his wrist. 

"Shut. Up," she hissed. Spike frowned, and let go of her hand.

"Ethan, who's Eyghon?" Buffy asked, changing the subject. Willow moved forward to protest, but Buffy just lifted a finger, silencing her. 

"I suppose I might as well tell you. There's nothing else to do, plus Ripper has a good head start. Eyghon's a demon. It can only exist in this reality by possessing an unconscious or dead host. Given his girlfriend just passed out next to its gloopy remains, my money's on the fact she's about to rip his head from his shoulders and play football with it. Anyway, this all means I should probably be off, because I'm the next victim on the list and I've got better things to be doing. So, if you wouldn't mind just loosening my...oh for God's sake."

He was speaking to three rapidly retreating backs.

\---

They caught up to Giles in the deserted, covered parking lot behind the school as he was about to get into his car. 

"Buffy? What are you doing here? I thought I told you to wait with Ethan?" said Giles.

"Change of plan, mate," said Spike, grabbing Jenny. She screeched in anger and struggled against him.

"Let her go!" shouted Giles, darting forward. Buffy moved between them. 

"Giles, she might be possessed," she said, quickly, her hands on his forearms.

"Don't be ridiculous," he replied, trying to push Buffy aside. He might as well have been trying to move a medium sized van.

"Don't be ridiculous," mocked a deep, male voice. 

Buffy span round, surprised. The voice was coming from Miss Calendar, whose face had contorted into a very un-Jenny like evil leer. Willow gasped and jumped out of the way as it lunged and tried to claw at her with both hands. Spike swore and redoubled his grip as the slight, dark haired woman started to twist and thrash in his arms, her face distorting, horns sprouting from her head, the skin on her face splitting to reveal scales underneath.

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered. 

"Spike, don't let go!" shouted Buffy.

"Not plannin' to, pet," he said, but his voice sounded strained. 

As Eyghon fought to free itself, it lunged backwards, smacking into Spike's nose violently. Blood spurted everywhere and Spike staggered backwards, thrown suddenly off balance. Buffy took his place, aiming a kick at the demon's jaw. Eyghon retaliated with a side swipe that sent Buffy flying into one of the concrete pillars beside Giles' car. Spike yelled her name and was on the demon in a flash, fully vamped out - rage fuelling his strength. 

He put the creature in a headlock then started to choke it. 

"He's killing her," cried Giles, attempting to rush forward. Willow put a reassuring hand on his arm.

"Just wait, Giles. I think I know what he's doing - and I think it's going to work."

After a minute, Jenny/Eyghon's body went limp, and the demon leapt into Spike, the only dead body available nearby. As soon as it entered him, Spike began to shake and convulse, his face ripping as the two demons - one vampire, one ancient Etruscan - went to war inside his body. 

Giles bent over Jenny, fussing around her as she struggled to her feet. 

"I'm fine, I'm OK," she said. "Although my head hurts like hell."

"Yeah, probably because you had a demon in it," said Willow. Jenny looked at her, confused and alarmed. "Oh, it's OK," she clarified brightly. "It's in Spike now."

Spike was clutching his head and yelling as the internal battle raged on.

"It's killing him," Buffy said, distressed. For a moment, Spike's face was that of Eyghon, then it was gone again, and Spike was back - apparently for good.

Buffy ran across the parking lot, throwing her arms around him; almost knocking him over. She pressed her face into his chest and he could feel her tears start to penetrate his shirt. 

"You knew if that demon was in trouble it was going to jump into the nearest dead person," she said, her voice muffled.

"Yeah," he replied, squeezing her tightly. "Thought it might be fun. I've had a demon inside me for a century, it loves a good fight. And as a certain someone's got me drinking pig's blood and behaving like a bloody tame pet, I decided to give it a bit of exercise."

Buffy just hugged him more tightly. Giles cleared his throat. 

"I, um, it seems I owe you my thanks, Spike," he said, reluctantly.

"Yes, thank you," said Jenny. She leaned against Giles, and he put a protective arm around her.

"Might be an idea to get her home now, eh, Ripper?" said Spike with one of his trademark irreverent grins. Giles glared, then nodded. 

"Yes, it's certainly been an eventful evening. But Buffy, we really must talk again tomorrow. And Willow, keep looking for more information on who could have summoned that demon, and where they carried out the ritual. We need to close that portal as soon as possible."

"What's he talking about?" said Spike, looking worried and confused. Buffy took his hand and squeezed it. 

"I'll fill you in later," she said, kissing him gently. He closed his eyes, immediately soothed. "First, let's go and check on our prisoner."

Spike, Willow and Buffy headed back to the library. When they got there Ethan was, predictably, gone. 

However, he'd dropped something as he made his escape. It was a piece of what - at first glance - looked like paper, but it was a strange pinkish-yellow colour. There were creepy-looking symbols inscribed on it. Spike picked it up and sniffed it, then glanced at Buffy. 

"This is human," he said, with a frown. "And old, too."

Buffy took it from him, turning it over. It looked identical to the piece of skin that one of the priests was holding in the drawing of the ritual. 

"He did it," she said, wonderingly. "It was Ethan. He summoned that demon."

Her legs felt suddenly weak and watery. A wave of dizziness passed over her and for the first time, she wondered if it was the creature's poison working its way through her system. 

She sat down, closing her eyes for a moment. 

"If we can track him down, he might lead me the portal," she said in a low voice. "I could close it, stop myself from going crazy. Well, crazier."

Spike looked startled. "What did you say?"

"I said, that tall British jerk summoned the Xu-whatever - the thing that attacked me."

"Yeah, I got that bit, love," Spike replied, trying not to sound too annoyed. "What's all this about you going bonkers?" 

He took hold of her shoulders. She turned her tear-filled eyes to his. 

"I...the visions I'm having. They'll keep getting worse unless we destroy the portal. If we can't find and close it, I'll lose my mind. I don't know how long I have until that happens. The weird thing is, I'm not even sure that's the worst part. If - when - the portal closes, we'll both forget everything that's happened between us. Well, since the attack in the graveyard, anyway."

Spike looked stricken. He fell to his knees in front of her, his hands on her thighs, his soft blue eyes filled with sadness and adoration.

"You'll be OK, love. I promise. I've been alive a bit longer than you. And dead a lot longer than that. I've seen things you couldn't imagine, and done things I'd prefer you didn't...we'll get through this. If that portal is anywhere, I'll find it. Don't exactly have a reputation for being a thinker. I follow my blood - and my nose - but I'm good at that. I love you, remember. You're kind, and strong, and smart. No stupid, wisecracking git of a warlock is going to get the better of you, Buffy. You're a hell of a woman." 

He caressed her legs as he spoke, his voice heavy with emotion.

Willow put one hand to her chest, pretty sure she'd never hear anything more romantic ever again. Who knew vampires could be so...soulful? Damn, he was good.

Buffy was clearly touched too, because as soon as he'd stopped speaking she immediately fell forward, her mouth colliding with his in a bruising, passionate, deep kiss, which quickly got hot and heavy. Buffy slid off the chair and into Spike's lap, her arms round his neck. He growled, and kissed her even harder. 

"Um, I think I'll leave you guys to it. Best be off home. Lots to do! Have a great weekend, guys. Bye for now," said Willow, loudly and pointedly, as she beat a very hasty retreat. 

Neither Spike or Buffy noticed her leave.


	27. Chapter 27

When the two lovebirds finally broke apart, they realised they were alone in the library. It was gloomy and eerily silent.

"Where did Willow go?" asked Buffy, puzzled. Spike looked around, then shrugged. 

"Guess Red left while we were a bit...distracted," he said with a smirk.

Buffy winced. She was going to have to do some serious repair work on her friendships after this was over. After. The thought startled and upset her. When had she started thinking that there would be an after? Had she really accepted that there was no hope, that she was going to lose all of this unfathomable love and incredible sex due to some kind of stupid loophole?

"Penny for 'em, pet," said Spike, frowning. 

Buffy reached out and stroked his pale, soft cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into her hand. It was such a trusting gesture. Her heart clenched in her chest, and tears started to fall.

"This can't work, can it?" she said. "We don't close the portal, I go all brain-dead Buffy. We close it, and we forget all of this. You go back to plotting to kill me. I go back to trying to slay you. Maybe, if we're lucky, we'll sort our crap out enough to work out that we're meant to be together by the time I'm, like, 30 or something. If I even live that long. This sucks so, so much."

Spike kissed her hand. "Look, love, all I know is that it isn't over 'til the fat lady sings. You were sure the Master was going to off you, yet here you are, sitting in your school library, about to let a big, bad vampire fuck you in your Watcher's office. You never know what the future will hold," he leered at her, his eyes hooded and seductive. 

Buffy gaped at him, her mouth falling open in shock. Then she licked her lips, her eyes darting from side-to-side. 

"Wait, no. What? No, we can't. Spike, seriously. That's not an option."

"Why not? Can't sense anyone around. From what you've told me, seems we're on borrowed time - all the more reason for us to make the most of it." 

He stroked her thighs again, then stood up, extending his hand. She hesitated, then took it. Spike pulled her to her feet and captured her lips in a searing, intense kiss, one hand gripping her hair, pulling her head back to allow him better access to her mouth. His tongue twined with hers, lasciviously and seductively. His other hand roamed down to the tight round globe of her ass and squeezed it, hard. 

She felt her knees turn to jelly. She'd thought that only happened in books, mainly crappy romance novels. Turns out those writers were onto something.

Her hands inched under his T-shirt, stroking Spike's stomach. She moved slightly to press herself closer against his firm, taut body and as she did, her damp panties shifted against her skin, making her gasp in surprise as she realised how incredibly wet she was. How was it possible to be soaked after just one kiss? 

She broke away, panting. 

"Changed your mind, Slayer?" he said, his expression smouldering. He raised one eyebrow, and she looked down at his crotch. His pants looked impossibily, uncomfortably tight, the fabric straining to contain his rock-hard cock. Her swollen lips parted at the sight, and she turned her flushed, lust-addled face up to his, nodding dazedly. Giles could never, ever know. Never. 

Spike smirked triumphantly and swept her up in his arms like a bridegroom, carrying her to the office, which - thankfully - was unlocked. He set her down on a leather sofa in the corner and shut the door, then leaned against it, looking at her with a burning, intense gaze.

Buffy frowned, confused, unsure what he was waiting for. She really, really hoped he hadn't changed his mind. 

"What is it?" she asked, cocking her head to one side quizzically.

"Just thinking how much I hope you end up remembering this, somehow," he said with a grin. "Every time you have a nice little chat with Rupes in here, I want you to think about me, taking you from behind, your pretty little tits brushing against that desk while you grip the wood and urge me to fuck you harder."

Buffy felt herself dissolve as he gave her a full, spoiler-filled preview of what he was planning to do to her. She felt as if she'd been set on fire. 

She held her arms out to him pleadingly and he crossed the room, undoing his belt as he walked towards her, then popping open his fly. Buffy sat up and scooted to the edge of the sofa, knowing exactly what he wanted. She slid his jeans down his legs. He was commando, as usual, and the second his beautiful, long, thick cock was free she took it in her mouth, stroking it with one hand as she bobbed her head up and down. 

She wanted to consume him, devastate him, force him to remember her forever. He gasped as she broke away to rake his shaft with her teeth before continuing her enthusiastic sucking.

"Oh Christ, Jesus, yes Buffy - like that love. Fuck." Buffy hummed in pleasure as she heard him swear and moan, loving the effect she had on him.

But it wasn't enough. She wanted more. After a minute, she took her hand away, opened her mouth more widely and pushed herself forward. Spike made a garbled sound as she deep-throated him. His hands went to the back of her head, holding her in place. She didn't resist. Instead, she swallowed him down, holding herself as still as possible, her wet, pink lips stretched around his dick. Her throat muscles throbbed around his aching cock and he gave a strangled little wail, then pulled back, his thighs and hands shaking, looking wild-eyed and worshipful. 

"Bloody hell, kitten you're incredible. Need to slow it down, though. Won't last much longer at this rate. Lie back for me, love." 

She was wearing tight black suede pants, a maroon shirt and a short, black leather jacket. It was almost like she was copying his style. He pushed the jacket off her shoulders, discarding it, then removed her ankle boots before peeling the slacks off her ass and then tugging them down her slim legs. 

She was wearing gossamer thin see-through panties, and he could see was completely shaved - no more landing strip of hair. A hot, intoxicating, musky fug of arousal was coming off her in waves. He closed his eyes, wondering how in the hell a vamp like him had accidentally ended up in heaven.

Spike tore the panties aside in a flash and fell on her, tasting, lapping and devouring her soaking cunt, occasionally dipping down to fuck her with his tongue. He knew, now, what she most enjoyed, and he used that to full advantage. He nuzzled into her, suckling on her clit like a man possessed, before sliding three long fingers into her dripping wet pussy, fucking her quickly and roughly as he growled and continued to lick her sensitive bud, making Buffy scream and cry out. 

He added an unprecedented fourth finger and increased the pace, thrusting into her with his hand until she convulsed violently, screaming his name. Her internal muscles contracted, forcing his fingers out of her body. A warm jet of her come spurted out in their wake, hitting his chest and dripping down onto his cock. 

Spike looked absolutely delighted. 

"Oh God, did I just pee on you?" she squeaked, looking startled and embarrassed.

"No, love, made you squirt, that's all. It's normal, and sexy as hell, but not all women do it. Only happens when they're shagged nice and hard. Look at this," he stroked his erection, which was now coated with her slippery juices. "You came all over my cock, pet, got it all nice and wet. All the better to fuck you with."

He pulled her to her feet, pausing to pull off her shirt, briefly bending his head to suck on her tits, flicking his tongue over each nipple. Then he turned her around and bent her over Giles' desk, pushing on her back until she was lying with her breasts pressed against the cool wood, her arms outstretched.

Spike gathered her hair into a ponytail and gripped it tightly, making her hiss with surprise. He used his free hand to rub his dick against her soaked, spread-open folds before bending his knees slightly to slot himself inside. Buffy let out an "ah" of pleasure and surprise as he thrust forward, impaling her, before starting to fuck her quickly and urgently, his stomach and upper thighs slapping against her tanned ass cheeks, making them ripple and bounce against him.

He groaned at the impossibly lewd sight: he could see every detail of his cock sliding in and out of her tight little quim, her beautiful pert arse pressing against him. He wasn't holding anything back. Each time he fucked her he buried himself to the hilt, before pulling out almost completely and then thrusting forward again, ramming himself roughly into her inviting cunt, the sharp wooden edge of the desk leaving long, thin, cut-like bruises on Buffy's thighs. Paperwork slid to the ground as they screwed, and she dimly heard a paperweight smash as it hit the floor.

God, we're going to be in so much trouble, Buffy thought.

Spike felt her tense at the sound of the breaking glass, and decided it was probably time for a change of scenery. He pulled out, then picked Buffy up and carried her to the sofa, laying her down with her head on the arm rest. He knelt between her knees and positioned his dripping cock at her entrance before shoving himself inside her as deeply as he could, his prick sliding easily into her stretched, soaking pussy. She gasped.

"Fuck, Buffy, love you so much, want to do this forever," he moaned as he fucked her. Her arms were around his waist, holding him close, and her legs were spread as wide as possible. His pelvic bone collided with her clit with every thrust and she felt him twitch and swell inside her as he sped up, jackhammering into her wildly.

"Spike, don't stop, please," she groaned, as she felt a second orgasm start to build, their bodies hitching, colliding and edging ever closer to release.

"Couldn't if you paid me, pet," grunted Spike. He was poised on the crest of a tsunami but he could tell she was just as close as he was. He fought his looming orgasm, gritting his teeth as he ploughed into her, twisting his hips with each thrust. 

Buffy clawed at his back, leaving long, deep scratches that would shock her later.

"Yes, yes, yes," she breathed as he hit just the right spot, filling her up completely. She bit his shoulder as she came with an earth-shattering cry. Spike followed her over the crest of the wave seconds later, pulling out at the last minute and shooting his load over her stomach, which surprised them both. Buffy trailed a finger through the milky fluid, then brought it up to her lips to taste it. It was one of the most debauched and delightfully erotic things he'd ever seen. 

"Fuck, Buffy," he said, reverently. She smiled, and took hold of his right hand, threading her fingers through his. 

"I love you," she said. 

He recoiled in shock as their twined hands burst into flame. 

"No...you don't. But thanks for saying it," he replied, as if reading from a script. Her face dropped and she pushed him away. The flames disappeared and Spike shook his head, trying to fight the overwhelming feeling he'd just died in a very heroic and romantic way. Buffy sat up, hugging her body, feeling vulnerable, hurt and confused. 

"What the hell, Spike?" she said. 

He shook his head, trying to clear it. 

"Sorry, it...wasn't me. Well, it was, but it wasn't now-me. Think I just had another one of those vision things. Future echoes, or whatever. Know you love me. I love you too."

Buffy sighed, then took his hand again, pulling him down on top of her into a tight embrace. They lay together for a while without speaking. 

"We really do have to destroy that portal, don't we?" she said, after a while.

"Yeah, wish we didn't, but your pals really don't want an insane vampire on their hands. I should know, I've been dealing with Dru for about a hundred years."

Buffy just closed her eyes and held him even tighter. A single tear ran down her cheek.


	28. Chapter 28

Buffy picked up the shattered pieces of the paperweight gingerly, wrapping them in a piece of newspaper before squirrelling the package away in her bag so she could toss it in the trash when she got home. 

"I'm sure he won't miss it," Spike said, with a yawn. "Stop worrying luv, come back over here." 

He was still lying on the sofa, completely, insouciantly, unselfconsciously naked, his legs spread wide with one foot resting on the floor. He had a cigarette in one hand and was fiddling with his lighter with another. 

"Spike, it had 'a present from your loving mother' written on it. I think he might. Also you can NOT smoke in here, put that away. I'm serious."

He sighed, stood up and started to pull his clothes back on. At least once they got outside he could go for a smoke. There was something about being ridden at a gallop by the Slayer while she milked him dry with her unimaginably strong cunt muscles that left him really craving a nicotine hit. And a bottle of Scotch, ideally.

Buffy looked tired and fretful; the worried expression that he'd managed to fuck away earlier had returned. Spike frowned and walked over to her, noting with pleasure that she smelled so strongly of sex that even a non-vampire would be able to tell what she'd been up to. Spike wrapped his arms around her, pressing his face into his girl's hair. He couldn't imagine going back to not loving her, not knowing how she felt in his arms - he wanted to hold on forever.

She wiggled a little, impatiently, and he reluctantly stepped back. 

"Ready?" he said, grabbing his coat. She nodded, and they crept out of the office, both of them half-expecting to bump into Willow, Xander, or, even worse, Giles. But the coast was clear. 

They headed to the rear door, but it was locked. Buffy swore, and headed across to the main entrance, only to find those doors bolted as well. The janitor must have done the rounds and secured the building at some point, without them realising. It was just after 8pm and the school was dark and silent.

"We're locked in," said Buffy, stating the obvious. 

"Hmm," said Spike his lips curling in a sexy little smile. "So, we'll have to spend the night? Doesn't seem so bad to me."

"It is bad, Spike. Very, very bad. Bad! I'm already two hours late for dinner. Mom gets really mad when everything goes all congeal-y."

She kicked the heavy doors, hard, but they didn't budge. Giles must have had them reinforced after Spike's attack on the school. She cast around for another way out, but short of smashing a window or carrying out other noticeable acts of criminal damage, she really couldn't think of anything. 

"S'fine, pet. Don't fret. Surely someone's got a key," said Spike. He was fidgeting with his cigarettes again, looking restless. 

The whole 'hands going on fire' thing had rattled him more than he let on. He should have gone after that Ethan twat straight away, tracked him down while the trail was still fresh. He shouldn't have stopped to have incredibly satisfying and downright pornographic sex with Buffy...but when he did find the bloke, and they stopped him, all of this would be over. What would that mean, exactly? Who was he, right now? And who was he before? Just how much was he set to lose? 

He was distracted by a wail and a particularly vicious kick aimed at the recalcitrant door.

Buffy put her head in her hands. "Oh God," she said. "I'm going to have to call Giles."

She moved towards the office, but Spike reached out and put a pale hand on her arm, stopping her.

"Buffy," he said softly. "When this is all sorted out, and things are put to rights, I'm gonna need you to do me a favour."

Buffy frowned, puzzled. "What is it?"

"Promise me," he stumbled over his words, his voice going hoarse, "promise me you'll put a stake in my chest before I forget everything. Please."

Buffy's flinched away from him, batting away his hand. 

"Spike, what are you talking about?" she said, her voice sharp and angry. She was shaking, with two bright red dots of colour high on her cheeks. 

"Listen to me," he insisted, taking hold of her arm again. She struggled for a minute, then held still, facing away from him, refusing to meet his gaze. 

"No," she replied, in a low voice.

"Buffy," he pleaded. "The minute I forget all this, I'll go back to wanting to kill you again, you know that. And you also know I'm bloody good at killin', and not just that: if I got wind of what had happened between us I'd use it to torture you. I'd fuck with your head and delight while I was doing it. I don't want to be the death of you, love. I don't want to go back to being that bloke, either. I've had a good run, lived longer than I deserve. I'd rather go out on a high."

"Spike, I'm not going to kill you!" she shouted, shaking his arm off again.

"Fine," he replied. "Not you. But someone has to. Maybe Harris, he certainly doesn't seem like he'd have too much of a problem with staking me. Be a bit of a treat for him."

"Please can we not talk about this," said Buffy her voice cracking. She still looked angry, despite the tears that were running down her cheeks. Spike gathered her in his arms, stroking her back. She resisted at first, then leaned into his embrace.

"We've got to, love. For my sake, and yours. Promise me you'll take me out of the picture before you close that portal?"

"No," she whispered, pushing her face against his chest. "We'll find a way, somehow."

"But if we don't..."

She was silent for a second, then looked up at him. This time, she looked like the Slayer, rather than a lovelorn girl. Her face was still blurry and distressed, but there was an added a glint of steel in her expression. She just nodded, almost imperceptibly, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Spike closed his eyes, relieved.

"Thanks, love. Now, let's phone your Watcher and get out of this bloody library. Think I'll dust if I don't get a drink and a smoke soon."

Buffy winced again, looking almost as dismayed at the idea of calling Giles as she had at the thought of staking Spike.

\---

"What is it, Buffy?" said Giles, sounding even more harassed than usual. "I was...comforting Miss Calendar."

Buffy took the receiver away from her ear and contorted her face into an "ew" expression, which Spike looked at with an answering look of besotted, amused love. 

"Giles, I'm... we're...locked in the library."

"What, you and Willow? Were you doing research?"

"No. Me and Spike," Buffy replied, cringing.

There was a long silence on the end of the line. Buffy could almost hear him taking off his glasses. He sighed.

"There's something else," said Buffy. "We know who summoned the demon. It was Ethan."

"What? How do you know that?"

"He had something, a spell, I guess - it was written on human skin and the creepy symbols on looked the same as the ones in that gross ritual that Willow found. He dropped it when he escaped."

"Escaped. Oh how marvellous," huffed Giles. "Did he get away while you and Spike were - ah - otherwise occupied, by any chance?"

"No!" protested Buffy. "Absolutely not. He escaped way before...oh," she blushed as she realised she'd given a bit too much away.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," Giles replied, sounding very resigned, then hung up.

Buffy closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then put down the receiver. She could feel Spike's eyes boring into the back of her neck. He took a step forward so he was right behind her.

"What is it, Spike?" she said, sounding irritable. 

"How long 'til he gets here?" he whispered, his mouth against her ear. She shivered.

"About twenty minutes, maybe. If he leaves right away." Buffy turned around, her eyebrow raised. "Why?" Then she looked down at his straining erection. 

"You have GOT to be kidding me," she said, swatting his arm.

He shrugged ever so slightly as if to say "what's a guy to do?" Buffy held his gaze for a second before shaking her head, a slight smile creasing her lips.

"Fine," she said, and started to wriggle out of her pants. "But we need to be quick."

\---

Giles arrived 15 minutes later, leading to a lot of scrambling around for various items of clothing and a frantic dash to put the various books and paperwork back in their original positions on his desk - again. They collapsed onto the sofa a second before the Watcher turned the door handle.

"What are you doing in my office?" he said, with a worried-looking frown.

"It was...warmer," said Buffy. 

"M, s'very draughty in the main bit," agreed Spike, supportively.

"You don't feel the cold," Giles replied. His eyes wandered to his desk. "Why has everything been rearranged? And where's my paperweight?"

Spike looked dead ahead, poker face very firmly in place. Buffy at least had the decency to look embarrassed. She reached down and picked up her bag, then extracted the newspaper wrapped pieces apologetically, handing them to her Watcher with wide, saucer-like, puppy-dog eyes. The children she took trick-or-treating would have all been making extensive notes if they'd been in the room. 

"I'm sorry," she said, softly.

"No don't try that wobbly-lip routine on me this time, Buffy. This really is the last straw, you know," spluttered Giles. "It's bad enough that you've fallen for a soulless vampire, the least you could do is choose a more suitable location to..."

Giles hesitated. Buffy's adorable pout had reached almost unheard of proportions, and her eyes brimmed with jewel-like tears. Spike had to admit he was impressed, not to mention a bit moved, even though he knew full well she was being a manipulative little minx. 

"Oh it's fine, never mind. I never liked it that much anyway," said Giles, dropping the remains of the ornament into the waste paper basket. 

Spike took that as his cue to leave, and stood up. "Well, best be off. Thanks for letting us out." He made towards the door. 

"Not so fast, Spike," said Giles, coolly. "I think you owe me a favour."

Spike turned, raising his eyebrow. "Is that so?" he said, warily.

"Ethan summoned this demon. You're good at tracking people. I need you follow his trail, find out where he's stashing that body, then move the corpse to this location as soon as you can." Giles handed over a slip of paper with a crude map scrawled on it.

"Is that all? Anything else you need me to do?" said Spike, glowering. "Climb Everest? Write a bestselling novel?"

"No, that will suffice, for now."

Spike looked at him for a few seconds, clearly displeased about the turn the evening had taken.

"Fine," he snapped. He glanced at Buffy, who appeared to be genuinely tearful, now. She stepped forward and took Spike's hand, then looked at her Watcher.

"Giles, I'm all for the 'close this evil portal so I don't go insane' plan, but I'm still not on board with the whole 'lose my memory' thing. I don't want to forget what's happened. Please."

"I know, Buffy. I remember. You were very...vehement," said Giles. "Miss Calendar thinks she can protect you from the effects of the portal closing, possibly. She's heard of a spell that holds someone separate from existence for a few minutes, by forming a small bubble universe that they alone occupy. There's a fairly good chance it might prevent you from forgetting the events of the last few days. Equally, it might not, but it's the only option we have at this stage."

"Will that work for both of us?" said Buffy, warily. 

Giles shook his head. "I'm sorry, Buffy. Separating one person from reality will push Jenny to her limits. Well, far beyond her limits, truth be told, but she's willing to try. Two would be impossible, unless we had another person capable of doing magic. And even then, they'd have to be very adept."

"No," said Buffy. "Spike..."

He spoke over her, interrupting before she could finish her sentence. It wasn't like him, and it surprised her into silence.

"It's fine, Buffy. Remember what we talked about. Has to be done. It's time to be brave, pet." 

He gave her a brisk peck on the cheek, squeezed her hand and - before she could protest or call him back - he was gone, stalking out of the office. A second later, they heard a crash as he took his frustration out on the library's swinging doors, pushing them open with such force they hit both walls before ricocheting back.

Giles winced at the sound, then took Buffy's arm. She looked dazed, sad, tired and dishevelled. 

"Let's get you home," he said gently. "Your mother will be worried. I'll tell her you were doing some - er - extra credit work."  
  
Despite everything, Buffy laughed - a dry bark that was over almost before it began. Giles blushed, but let her lean on him as he walked her to his car. 


	29. Chapter 29

Angel jerked awake, startled by a loud bang on his apartment door. He sat up, frowning, the blanket pushed down to his waist, unsure if he'd imagined the noise. He'd not been sleeping well ever since that...incident... on Buffy's front porch. 

The knock came again, harder than before. Angel got to his feet with a grunt of effort then rummaged around for a T-shirt, pulling it over his head. 

He threw the door open, and nearly slammed it closed again straight away when he saw who it was, but Spike's hand shot out and grabbed hold of the wood, forcing it wider.

"Hi, granddad," he drawled. He stank of cigarettes and his blond hair was sticking up in places, as if he'd been running his hands through it - a lot.

"What do you want, Spike?" said Angel, practically spitting the last word. "And how did you find me, anyway?"

"Get our blood supplies from the same place now," said Spike with the faintest hint of a smirk. "Just slipped the guy a twenty and asked him where you live. Bit lazy, getting deliveries. Still, you look like shit so I can see why you wouldn't want to go out."

"Go to hell," said Angel, trying to close the door again. But Spike held it open easily, his wiry arm muscles outperforming Angel's bulk.

"I will, soon, if you play your cards right," replied the smaller vampire. "But if you want that to happen, I'll need your help."

"What are you talking about?" Angel glowered at Spike

"Buffy's in trouble. As soon as we solve that trouble, I lose my memory, go back to being my good, old-fashioned, murderous self. She's going to stake me so that doesn't happen, all part of her duty as a Slayer, n' all. So if you help me, means you're helping her - and yourself."

Angel took his hand off the door, looking at Spike skeptically, appraising him.

"Why would I believe anything you say?" he said, coldly.

"You can ask her, if you want. Call her now if that's what you need to do." Angel didn't make any move towards his phone, so Spike continued. 

"The demon that attacked her had some kind of - stuff - on its claws, got into her wound, got on me a bit too. It's made both of us sort of bounce around in time. I'm experiencing things that haven't happened yet, so's she. Problem is, it'll drive her barmy soon. Only way to stop it is to close the portal the demon came through."

"And what's that got to do with me?"

Spike's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Care about the girl, don't you?" he said, puzzled.

"Seems like she's your girl, now," Angel growled. "You stink of her."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Are you seriously going to be this bloody selfish? Look, I can't do this on my lonesome, I tracked the bloke who summoned the demon to an abandoned house on the outskirts of town. Portal's in there, but it's guarded by M'Fashnik demons, mercenaries. Loads of them. Whoever's behind this has some serious cash. I can't take 'em on alone. You're the only person I know in Sunnyhell, apart from Dru and some shit minions who've already pissed off."

"Sorry," said Angel, moving to close the door again. Spike trembled with rage, the urge to punch his grandsire in the face growing stronger with each passing minute.

"Bloody coward," hissed Spike. 

"What did you call me?"

"A coward. Can't face a few M'Fashnik? You used to eat them for breakfast."

"You know it's not that. Buffy made her choice when she..."

"She didn't make any choice! She never has! She didn't choose to be the Slayer, she didn't choose to be slashed by some massive demon, and neither of us chose to end up - you know. Just happened, was a side-effect. For god's sake, the girl has no choice about anything, she's a bloody puppet for those wankers at the Watcher's Council. And now you're going to turn your back on her, of all people? Fucking coward. You're pathetic, Peaches. Always were."

Spike turned to leave, and was surprised when Angel grabbed his duster and hauled him back. Now for the punching, he thought. But it didn't come. 

Angel just stared at him, his lips pressed tightly together. After what seemed like forever, he cleared his throat. 

"Let me get my coat," he said, his voice flat. 

\---

The vampires approached the house slowly, using the undergrowth as cover. It was a crumbling, two-storey, wooden, gable-front building, which had been painted white, once upon a time. Now, it was bandage-grey, with gaping, black holes where the windows had been. Ivy covered the western wall. 

Two M'Fashnik guarded the front entrance. In a low voice, Spike explained that there were two more at the back.

Angel hadn't said a word the entire journey there, and Spike was starting to wonder if he'd made a serious mistake in asking him for help. 

The bloke looked a bit unhinged, with dark shadows under his eyes and a grim expression on his face. Spike could also see a fading burn mark in the shape of a cross on his hand, just where the sleeve of his jacket ended. 

He jumped when Angel finally broke the silence.

"So what's the plan?" he said, gruffly.

"I'll take the two at the front, you take the two at the back, we bash them, get into the house, grab the portal - which is a dead body by the way, forgot to mention that bit - then leg it."

"Very strategic," said Angel, drily. 

"What, have you got any better ideas?" said Spike, looking offended.

"We'll each struggle to take on two of them. You should draw them away, and I'll sneak in and grab the...remains."

"Why don't you draw them away? Why do I have to be the bloody bait?"

"Because you roped me into this against my will and I'm about four seconds away from leaving you to it and going home. Plus, you're faster than me. Always have been."

Spike glared at him. "Fine, but if I get killed I'm coming back as a ghost and haunting you, you stupid great poof."

Before Angel could reply, Spike had burst out of the bushes and was running straight at the M'Fashnik, shouting "yoohoo!" at the top of his voice. He definitely had the element of surprise: they accidentally crashed into each other as he darted past them and slipped round the side of the building to do the exact same thing to the two hulking monsters at the back entrance.

Once he was sure he had the attention of all four of them, Spike took off at a dead sprint across a nearby patch of waste ground. Three of the creatures lurched after him, moving much more quickly than he'd expected. The fourth stayed where it was.

Spike cursed and considered doubling back, but the three demons were in hot pursuit now and it was all he could do to stay out of reach of their spears. Angel would just have to deal with the straggler.

\--- 

Angel crawled towards the last M'Fashnik on his stomach, sliding through the long grass like the world's chunkiest snake. He was out of breath and covered in mud and scratches by the time he got in striking distance, and the ember of anger in his stomach had rekindled into a blazing fire again. What the hell was he doing, helping Spike? Sure, his grandchilde claimed it had something to do with Buffy, but he hadn't told the truth since 1880. 

He launched himself off the ground and onto the demon's back, vamping out in mid-air. The M'Fashnik dropped its shoulder and tried to throw him off, but that just ended up with both of them tumbling to the ground. Angel was first to his feet, and turned to stamp on the mercenary's chest, but the thing was too quick - it grabbed his leg and tugged, sending Angel sprawling in the dirt again. 

Angel rolled out of the way as the M'Fashnik brought its long spear down, hard, dodging it in the nick of time. It stabbed at him again as he got to his feet, catching the sleeve of his coat and ripping it. Angel snarled and pounced on the grey-faced creature, slashing it across the face before knocking its feet from under it in a roundhouse kick. It fell, heavily, and Angel briefly wrestled with it for its spear before giving up and just kicking it in the head multiple times instead, until it finally lay still.

The whole thing was eerily similar to a drunken bar fight he'd had in County Kildare in 1750. And, like the drunken bar fight, it ended up with Angel covered in blood and standing over a motionless body. He winced slightly when he saw that the M'Fashnik's entire face had caved in. 

Angel looked a bit sheepish for a moment, then bypassed the corpse and entered the house. It was as ramshackle inside as it was outside. The ground floor was entirely open plan, and (thankfully) deserted. The staircase had a large chunk missing from the centre, meaning anyone climbing it would have to take a running jump to reach the first floor landing. 

He continued to cast around, looking for clues, aware that Spike couldn't outrun the demons that were chasing him forever. Angel hoped they killed him, but not too quickly. Partly because he needed more time to search the house properly, but also because Spike definitely deserved a slow, painful death. 

Angel's yellow eyes spotted a hatch in the floor, hidden in a shady corner of the already gloomy room. He headed towards it, then hauled it open, revealing a set of stairs that led down into the basement. He crept down them, and as he reached the bottom a heavy metal pipe descended out of the darkness, hitting him squarely on the back of the head. Angel staggered back and fell to one knee. The pipe was raised again, but Angel acted quickly and reached up to grab it, pulling it out of the man's hand. 

His assailant fell to the ground, cowering. 

"Er, sorry about that, old chap," he said, his voice wavering. "Thought you were someone else."

"Who?" snarled Angel. 

"The Slayer. I escaped from her clutches earlier, you see. Looks like we - perhaps - have a common enemy?" said Ethan, hopefully. 

Angel bared his fangs. 

"No, we don't. I'm here for the portal," he said, thickly. "And it sounds like I should probably take you back to her as well."

Ethan sagged. "You're...on her side. Like that blond vampire."

"I am NOTHING like him," Angel snarled, grabbing Ethan by the collar and jerking him closer. "Nothing."

The warlock raised his hands placatingly. "Of course, of course. My apologies. Just a slip of the tongue. You're clearly very very different. You have brown hair, for example. And you look like you eat a lot more than he does. Bit more junk in the trunk, as they say."

Angel glared, then shook off his vamp face. He grabbed some twine from a nearby shelf and wrapped it around Ethan's hands several times, tightly, so that it cut into his skin. The man yelped, but had the sense not to complain. 

"Where's the body?" said Angel. Ethan gestured to the right with his head. The vampire looked at him suspiciously, then cautiously rounded the corner. 

There was an altar in the centre of the room, obscured by the tall shelves. On it was a the corpse of a young man that had been flayed, split and pinned open. Angel baulked for a second, then moved closer. The teenager's torso was a black, swirling, gaping hole, interspersed with glimmering specks of eldritch purple light. Looking into it, Angel felt a sense of sweeping, queasy vertigo, and stepped back. 

He really, really didn't want to touch that thing. For a minute, he wished he'd been the one to do the whole 'running of the bulls' stunt with the M'Fashnik. He briefly wondered if Spike was OK, then shook himself. Why should he care? 

Angel gritted his teeth and began the gruesome task of prying out the nails that held the various sections of skin in place, his face twisted in a silent snarl of disgust. His squeamish human soul made doing things like this really damned unpleasant. 

Eventually, the body was free. Angel wrapped the flaps of flayed skin back around the corpse like a wraparound jacket, gagging slightly, then lifted it over his shoulder. The proximity of the portal made his empty stomach churn, his spine tingle and the hairs on his neck prickle. Yep, he definitely drew the short straw. 

"Follow me," he barked to Ethan, then started to climb the stairs. As soon as they reached the top, the warlock bolted for the door...only to run slap bang into Spike, who was standing just outside, bruised and bloodied. 

Spike laid him out with one quick punch, then threw him over his shoulder. He nodded at Angel, who responded with a barely perceptible head tilt of his own.  
  
"We need to get out of here," said Spike, stating the obvious. "The fuckers caught me, gave me a bloody good hiding. I managed to get away and give them the runaround but they'll be back here soon."

The two vampires set off into the night, silently, the uneasy truce between them holding...for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very plotty chapters - need to keep things moving forward as we approach the end. Don't worry though, there's still time for at least one helping of smut and romance before the final chapter drops. Probably two. Maybe three?!


	30. Chapter 30

The two vampires crashed into each other, distracted by the sight of a familiar tree they'd passed several times before. They were definitely going round in circles.

"Oi, watch where you're going, prat," said Spike, glaring at Angel. 

"Why don't you watch where you're going?" Angel snarled back. 

"Boys, boys, don't bicker," said Ethan, who'd regained consciousness the fourth time Spike had dropped him to fruitlessly consult the crumpled map in his pocket. He was stumbling along, his hands still bound, having promised not to try and escape if Spike would please stop hitting him.

"Shut up," said both of them in unison. Spike shoved Ethan in the small of his back, making him stumble and curse.

"Let me look at the map," said Angel, pausing to put the dead body on the ground. Everyone studiously avoided looking at the deeply unsettling corpse. 

Spike pulled the useless, confusing document out again. "Fat lot of good it'll do you," he huffed. "It's not like I'm holding it upside down or something."

Angel unfurled the crumpled piece of paper and glared at it, as if his annoyance would be enough to make sense of Giles' vague scrawl. 

"Well, it's definitely around here somewhere," he said, eventually. Spike snorted and snatched the map back.

"We know it's around here," he replied. "Problem is, we don't know where. This map's about as much use as a chocolate fucking teapot."

"What about over there?" said Angel, gesticulating generally to the left. It was the only possible option, given the rock face to their right.

"Ah, over there. Such a good idea. Why didn't we try that before?" said Spike, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh yes, because we already did."

"Well, they do say never send a man to do a woman's job," said Buffy, loudly, from a rocky ledge above them. She jumped down, neatly, landing silent and cat-like on the soft forest floor.

"Buffy," breathed Spike, relief and pleasure lighting up his face. His sudden vulnerability made him look much younger, his eyes crinkling at the edges in a way that made Buffy's stomach clench with affection. She smiled, but it quickly faded - replaced by a look of worry. She moved across to him and stroked his face, taking in his injuries.

"You're hurt," she said, brushing one finger over his cut lip, making him shudder - and not entirely in pain.

"M'fine, love," Spike replied. "Just a few bruises. They'll be gone before you know it. What are you doing here, thought your Watcher was taking you home to your mum?"

"He did, but I couldn't relax. I snuck out again and came to find you," she kissed him lightly on the cheek.

Buffy turned towards Angel, who just nodded tersely in her direction. Buffy looked at him, her expression hard and unreadable.

"Why are you here?" she asked. Angel's frown deepened.

"He convinced me to come," said Angel, gesticulating at Spike. "Said you needed help. That he couldn't do it on his own." 

"Oh, yeah, and you were so eager to throw your hat into the ring, weren't you?" said Spike, bristling.

"Not now, Spike," said Buffy - in a gentle tone that didn't match her blunt words. "Angel's here, and he's helping. That's what matters. And look! You found a bonus jerky jerkface! Giles will be so pleased to see his murderous, teenager-killing old friend again."

Ethan just glared at her. "I didn't kill the boy. He arrived pre....dead."

Buffy didn't bother to dignify that with a response. She just stepped forward and punched him in the face, hard enough to hurt, but not quite hard enough to knock him out and give someone the burden of carrying him again, Spike noted with gratitude.

"Come on. Giles and Miss Calendar are waiting at the cave," she said, shooting another fretful glance at Spike. He felt a frisson of anxiety, as if someone had walked over his grave, not that he could actually remember where it was. He shook it off and pursed his lips, his face a picture of grim resignation as he trailed after her through the woods.

\--- 

It wasn't surprising that the strange trio of two vampires and a warlock had missed the cave on their first couple of laps of the area: the opening was pretty much invisible, although Spike clocked it once they drew closer to the overhang that was shading the entrance and hiding it from view.

"This is a rock cliff," said Angel, huffing in annoyance.

"It's got a cave in it," said Buffy, in a 'stating the obvious' voice. "I'm going insane, what's your excuse?"

Her tone was deliberately light, but underneath there was a slight tremor. She'd had one of her most terrifying memory slips yet just before sneaking out of the house to look for Spike, convinced she was locked in an asylum and her entire life in Sunnydale was just a dream. It hasn't lasted that long, but the feeling clung to her. She'd had to fight not to launch herself into Spike's arms as soon as she'd seen him.

As if he could tell what she was thinking, Spike moved to stand beside her and rested a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Alright, pet?" he said gently. Buffy just nodded, but closed her eyes and leant against him briefly. Angel looked thunderous, but still followed them into the cave, carrying his grim, tragic, and very wigsome burden. They forced Ethan to walk in front so they could keep an eye on him.

After a few twists and turns, the passageway opened into a large chamber with a sandy floor. Candles had been placed around a large sigil that had been scratched into the ground with - presumably - the ceremonial dagger that Giles was holding. There was a makeshift altar in the centre of the pentagram-like design. Miss Calendar was lighting candles in the far corner.

"Ah there you are, finally," said Giles, turning to face them. His face tightened when he saw Ethan.

"Hello, Ripper," drawled the magician. "We really must stop meeting like this."

Angel pushed past him and walked over to the altar. He grunted at Miss Calendar. "I'm assuming...this...goes here?" he said, gesturing at the corpse on his shoulder. She nodded, and he laid the young man's body on the raised dais.

Jenny flinched and turned away as she saw the boy's dreadful wounds and the terrible, gaping black hole in his chest.

"Think I'm done here," said Angel. He turned to leave, stealing a glance at Buffy as their paths crossed. She put out a hand to stop him. 

"Thank you," she said, simply, lifting herself up on her tiptoes to press a chaste kiss against the corner of his mouth. He stiffened, staring straight ahead, then nodded in acknowledgement. A second later, he was gone. 

Spike tried to hide the spark of jealousy that flared when he saw Buffy's lips meet Angel's, but failed miserably. He stared in the direction Angel had gone, glowering and looking distinctly put out. Buffy sighed, put her arms around him, then kissed him deeply. 

"Don't be such a baby," she said, pulling back. "You know I love you."

He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, those adorable crinkle lines making another appearance at the edges of his sapphire eyes. Then he stroked her hair, tucking one golden strand behind her ear. He kissed her again.

"Come on, now," said Giles, looking stern. "This isn't the time or place."

Buffy looked chastened. Spike just looked frustrated. 

"Can't you give a dying man a break, Watcher?" he said. "Not exactly got much time left."

"You're not going to die, Spike," said Buffy softly. 

"Buffy, you promised. Said you wouldn't let me go back to the way I was," said Spike, sounding outraged. He pulled away from her. 

"We'll find another way, I can't stake you," said Buffy, her eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears. "Please, you can't seriously expect me to do that."

"Slayer, when we close that portal I instantly go back to being the berk who tried to off you at your bloody parent-teacher evening. It's you or me, love, and I'm asking for it to be me. No, not asking. Demanding. I won't take no for an answer."

Buffy opened her mouth to speak again, but an arch, refined and deeply annoying voice interrupted her. 

"Do you mind if I ask what the hell you're both talking about?" said Ethan. He looked smugly calm, as usual. Buffy shot him a hate-filled glance.

"Shut up," she said coldly, turning her back again.

"Fine, fine. I only asked because you seem to both be talking absolute nonsense," he said. "But never mind."

"What do you mean?" said Spike, eyes narrowing.

"Why would either of you lose your memory?" said Ethan. "Where did you get that notion from?"

Buffy and Spike both looked at Giles, who frowned. 

"It was...ah...in one of the ancient texts I translated. It said this timeline – notably, their memories – would be reset after the ritual takes place and the portal to the other plane of existence is shut off. The effects of the demon's ichor will be, well, deleted, effectively."

"You never were very good at Sumerian, were you?" said Ethan, mockingly. "It's not their memories that get reset, the whole bloody world does. They go back to the start, yes. But they remember everything. You're the ones that don't. It'll be like none of this happened, for you anyway. So you won't remember me calling you a stupid bloody wanker."

He grinned. Buffy staggered and Spike had to reach out to steady her. 

"Are you telling the truth?" she demanded. She reached out to grab his shirt, fisting it and dragging him close to her.

"Yes, I am. I've not exactly got much to lose, here, have I?" he replied.

"Why did you do all this?" asked Miss Calendar. "What was in it for you in the first place?"

"If I told you that, love, I'd have to kill you," said Ethan, sweetly. Spike growled. Buffy kicked Ethan in the crotch, and he fell to the floor, winded, with tears in his eyes. 

"Still not going to tell you," he choked out. "They'll kill me if I do."

"Who will?" said Giles. Ethan just shook his head. Buffy sighed. 

"Well this is fun," she said. But she didn't sound too upset. If it was true, and she and Spike could carry on as they were – with just the slight inconvenience of a brief trip back in time, not to mention having to redo a really tricky economics essay that she already couldn't remember the details of – she was perfectly happy.

"Buffy, we can't close the portal until we've found out who's behind this," said Giles. "Ethan will just get away with it all, and we'll have no idea what's actually going on."

"I think I know," said Spike, softly. He stalked over to Ethan, lifting him off the ground easily, just as he had in the library.

"It's the Consortium, isn't it?" he said. Ethan's pupils expanded, his heart beat faster and Spike smelled the familiar tang of adrenaline. "Mmm, thought so," he dropped Ethan again. "Heard they had a man in Sunnydale. Only just twigged that it must be you."

"Wait, hold on a hot minute. What's the Consortium?" said Buffy. 

"Buggered if I know for sure," said Spike, running a hand through his hair. "As shadowy organisations go, they're the shadowiest. Make the Illumniati look like A-list celebrities with their own prime time chat show. But when you've lived as long as I have, you hear whispers and rumours. It's...possible...that they actually control the world. Hard to tell."

"And they want me dead," said Buffy, flatly. "Or severely inconvenienced."

"Looks like," said Spike, with a shrug. The he took her hand. "S'OK though pet, they'll have to come through me, first." He grinned.

"Well, that seems to settle that," said Giles. "Buffy, when you reappear back in the graveyard, you must come to me immediately with this information, do you understand? We need to start researching the Consortium straight away, there's no time to lose. Speaking of which, we really must start this ritual before sunrise."

Giles turned back to Miss Calendar, who had just finished lighting the final red, dribbly candle. She placed it beside the prone figure on the altar.  
  
Buffy looked at the body properly for the first time, then frowned and walked across the room towards it, her head tilted, and her eyes squinting in confused recognition.

"I...think I know him," she gasped. She forced herself to take another step forwards, and sucked in a shuddering breath as her suspicions were confirmed. "That's Ford. I went to school with him. Why...?"

She turned and launched herself at Ethan, attacking him with her fists and feet. 

"What did you do to him?" she shouted. Giles and Spike struggled to pull her off the cowering man, but eventually she stopped the relentless assault and stood still, breathing heavily. 

"I don't know...I didn't...they dropped him off at the building where Tweedledee and Tweedle-bloody-dumb found me earlier," said Ethan, wiping blood from his mouth. The cocky smile had finally vanished from his face. "The demons who delivered him said he'd come to town asking questions about you. Whoever he talked to must've passed him to the Consortium's hired goons, who promptly bumped him off. That's all I know. Well, that, and he was planning to betray you in return for being turned into a vampire. I suppose that's quite relevant, really."

The colour drained from Buffy's face. "Why would he do that?" she said. Then she shook her head. It didn't really matter, at this point, she realised.

"Let's do this," she said, turning back to Giles and Miss Calendar. They nodded, and each of them fell into position beside the altar, the Watcher by Ford's head, Jenny at his feet. Giles was holding the dagger, Miss Calendar was holding a long swathe of dark-coloured canvas, which she used to cover the body.

"Wait," said Spike. "Can we...can you stop?" 

"What now?" said Giles, rolling his eyes. 

"Just give me and the Slayer a minute, OK? In case none of this works. I just need to - er- talk to her about something. Won't be long. Please?"

Giles looked frustrated, but nodded sharply and put down the dagger. Spike suspected his rather gentlemanly decision to save the Watcher's bird was behind this unexpected reprieve. He wasn't going to complain. Who knew turning white hat could actually have multiple benefits?

He tugged on Buffy's hand. "Come on," he said, leading her back out of the cave. She was a little puzzled - and it showed in her face - but followed him out into the cool night air. She'd follow him anywhere, she realised.

As soon as they were outside, he wheeled around, his mouth crashing into hers. Buffy stumbled backwards until she was pressed up against the hard stone of the cliff. Her hands went to his face, palms pressing against his smooth, pale cheeks as their tongues twined together. 

Eventually, the inconvenient need to breathe won out and Buffy broke away with a gasp. Spike held her as she panted, feeling her breasts pushing against his leather-clad chest. 

"Just in case," he murmured into her neck, peppering it with gentle kisses.

"In case what?" she replied.

"In case something goes wrong," he said, his fingers creeping to the waistband of her slacks.

"Oh," she replied, suddenly realising what he wanted. "Do you think it will?" she said, shakily, as he undid her top button. 

"Can't be sure of anything, not when magic's involved. I need you, Buffy. Please?" His nimble fingers fell to her zip, sliding it down. She didn't resist, even though she could see the sky lightening slightly in the east, even though she knew there were people in the cave behind her, waiting impatiently, even though she was cold and tired and overwhelmed and...oh.

His fingers slid smoothly underneath her panties and caressed her hot, yielding, slippery flesh. Buffy gasped and spread her legs slightly, granting him better access. He kissed her cheek, then returned his attention to her neck, burrowing under her hair to run his tongue over her warm skin and dancing pulse, all the while fingering her, sliding up and down and round, firm and soft, fast and slow, making her pant and tremble.

But it wasn't enough. He needed more. With his other hand he pushed her sweater up roughly and yanked her bra down, freeing her breasts. Her nipples hardened immediately in the cold, pre-dawn air. Spike bent his head to take one of them in his mouth, flicking his tongue over it in a pattern that exactly mirrored the way he was playing with her clit. It didn't take long to push her over the edge, and she cried out as a sharp, heady orgasm overtook her.

How was it possible that he could turn her on so much and so quickly? Was this normal? She wasn't sure. It didn't feel normal - sex in the books and movies was sensual, romantic and loving, not hungry and urgent and frantic; both of them tearing into each other like addicts desperate for their next fix. But she didn't mind, she realised. This felt much more natural, like a battle she kept winning, again and again.

While she was still gasping and woolly-headed from her first orgasm, Spike pulled her slacks down the rest of the way, then turned her around so she was braced against the cliff face, her hands pressing into the rock. 

"Need to be inside you," he growled. His voice was thick and rough, and Buffy could tell without looking that he'd slid into his vamp face. She didn't mind, in fact if anything his loss of control just made her wetter and more ready for him.

She heard the jingling sound of his belt falling open, then a moment later he shoved himself inside her, as hard and cool and smooth as moonstone. She grunted as he thrust home, filling and stretching her more than ever before. He'd taken her from behind in Giles' office but this somehow felt more primal, more ancient. It almost seemed like part of the ritual. 

He pulled back and her tight pussy clung to his cock as he withdrew. She felt her skin stretch and ache as he left her body, only for him to plunge back in to the hilt the next second. She stifled a scream, not wanting Giles, Miss Calendar or - god forbid - Ethan to hear what they were doing. Though she suspected they knew full well.

Spike fucked her intensely, single-mindedly, determinedly. She felt the cold metal of his belt buckle beating a tattoo against her ass cheek as he thrust and bucked into her. He took her short pony tail in his other hand, pulling her head back so she was staring straight up up at the star-filled sky. She hissed in mingled pain and pleasure at the feeling, and let one hand slide down her body to satisfy the growing ache between her legs. Spike snarled and pushed it away, replacing it with his own. "Mine," he muttered, possessively.

She almost came from that single word alone. Then his fingers started to skate over her clit, and her filled-to-the-brim pussy began to flutter and pulse around his cock in response: the first early warning tremors of the Richter 9 orgasm that was on the way. Spike groaned and sped up, his thrusts growing more frantic as he edged ever closer to release. He fell forward onto her back as he continued to jackhammer into her, Buffy's hands sawing up and down the rough stone as she tried to keep her balance, leaving scrapes on her palms that she'd only notice later, once it was all over, and she was back in her bedroom.

"Going to bite you now, Buffy," he growled. It didn't sound like a request for permission, but she knew it was. Before she'd even finished nodding, Spike's fangs had pierced the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder blade, sliding in as seamlessly as a hot knife through butter.

As he took the first stuttering draught of her blood, Buffy came to pieces, shattering like a broken mirror. She couldn't bite back her banshee like wail of completion any more than Spike could stifle his victorious yell as he spurted violently inside her, the Slayer's rich blood trickling down his chin; droplets of her come dappling his strong thighs. In that moment, he felt invincible. 

Buffy's knees went from under her. Spike intervened before she hit the ground and gently lowered her so she was sitting with her back against the solid rock, her face flushed and bright.

"Wow," she whispered, with a shaky laugh.

"Just in case," he said, letting his features settle and become human once again. 

"Yes. Just in case," Buffy replied, with a tired, loving smile. He pulled her to her feet, meeting her lips with his as she rose. She wrapped her arms around her vampire and they stood together silently for a long moment, his head resting on top of hers. 

Then they went back into the cave, hand in hand, to face the music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter, and it's quite a long one (for me). Thanks to everyone who's still reading! I hope you like the grand finale, when it comes. I've already planned a sequel, god help me.


	31. Chapter 31

Buffy felt a swooping, plunging feeling in her stomach as the portal closed. Darkness rose to envelop her and she lost hold of Spike's hand as she fell forwards. It was as if she'd just jumped from a tall tower into empty space, but worse, somehow. Oblivion surrounded her, sucked at her, eroding her sense of self. A nanosecond before the sensations became too much to bear, she hit solid ground, rolling on the grass and automatically jumping to her feet.

She was back in the cemetery, but there was no sign of Spike, or the demon that had wounded her the first time around (which was slightly better news).

Buffy cast around for him, moving from gravestone to gravestone, increasingly anxious. She called his name, and sagged in relief as a familiar blond-haired figure appeared from behind what she couldn't help but think of as 'their' crypt.

She rushed over to throw her arms around him but he frowned and jerked away. Buffy flinched, her smile fading as she took in his suspicious, wary expression. She felt dread creep slowly up her spine, icy and unwelcome.

"Spike, are you...did you...forget what happened?" She tensed, ready to face an attack, her fear intensifying.

But he just shook his head, confusing her even more. She felt shaky, and it wasn't just from the weird back-in-time journey through negative space. She felt like she'd lost a limb. The confidence she hadn't even been aware she was feeling since the demon attack had suddenly gone, shut off at the source. 

She'd been increasingly clear-headed, confident and self-assured, even when her grip on reality started to fade. Her future self had somehow meshed with 17-year-old Buffy; she'd been unconsciously channelling experiences she'd not yet had, knowledge she'd not yet learned. Now she was original recipe Buffy again, which seemed to also come with a side order of insecurity. 

She wrapped her arms around herself, hunching away from Spike, her face cloudy and troubled.

"What's going on?" she said, quietly.

"Not sure," he replied, tersely. "All I know is I'm not...him anymore. All those so-called gentlemanly feelings must've been comin' from way off in the future. Back to myself now."

He shot her a furtive, sideways glance, his brow furrowed.

She was suddenly, shockingly crushed, and she had to fight hard not to double over and weep. She didn't want him to know how much his words had affected her. She increased the distance between them, trying to hide the devastation she was feeling, swiping angrily at the tears forming in her eyes. 

"So what, are you going to try and kill me now?" she spat, her sadness quickly turning to anger.

Spike's expression was completely unreadable, his face statue-like and immobile. Eventually he shook his head, almost imperceptibly.

"No. Still remember everything that passed between us," he said. "Still feel..."

"Feel what?" she prompted, her breath quickening, her heart beating faster. He backed away, as if he could smell the hope billowing off her. 

"Don't know, Slayer," he replied, gruffly. "Know that's not what you want to hear, but I need time. I'll see you around, OK?"

He turned to leave, but she dashed forward and grabbed his leather-clad arm. 

"Wait, Spike, please," she said. 

He snarled and vamped out, turning so his fangs were a millimetre from her face. She flinched, but didn't move her hand. Instead, she just gripped him tighter, then swallowed.

"I can't just let you leave. How do I know you're not going to...eat someone?" 

"You don't," he replied, wrenching his arm free with a great deal of effort. Spike wondered if she was trying to remind him of her strength. Hardly necessary, when he still had the proof of that in the form of various bruises, bites and a fair bit of chafing.

Final, now that was a heavy word, he thought. He shook his head in a vain attempt to chase away the pang of regret that accompanied the thought of never being inside her heavenly, sweet, wet...no, no more. Stop. He was a vampire; the Big Bad. He couldn't afford to get soft, turn white hat. It'd be the end of him, he knew. More than that, he remembered.

The blistering feeling of his hand bursting into flame filled his mind, not to mention the rest. Stupid soft git, dying for love. He wasn't going to burn for some chit of a girl, no matter how full of life she made him feel. 

He started walking again, but stopped just as quickly. Buffy was suddenly in front of him, blocking his path. She had a stake raised in one hand.

"Out of my way, Slayer," he growled, his yellow eyes boring into hers. 

"No, Spike. I can't let you go on a killing spree," he replied, her voice cracking slightly. Spike tilted his head.

"So what, you're going to stake me?"

She nodded, but he could see the pain and doubt in her pretty green eyes. 

"Don't think so love," he said, bluntly. He shrugged off his duster, then started to unbutton his red shirt. 

"Wh...what are you doing?" she said, taking a step backwards.

"Making it easier for you," he replied. "Just like I did in the alley that time. Remember? Just after I had your little pal at my mercy."

He let it flutter to the floor, then tugged his black T-shirt up and over his head, baring his pale chest. Spike moved towards her, only stopping when the stake was a millimetre away from his heart.

Buffy shivered, taking in every detail of his supple, beautiful, taut body. Her teeth had left a bruise just above his left nipple, and another on his smooth bicep. She remembered leaving those marks less than 24 hours ago, in Giles' office. She felt everything go spinny and closed her eyes, her hand pressed to her face. 

The dizziness got worse. The next thing she knew, she was on the ground, the dew-covered grass cold against her cheek, the stake still clutched in one hand the way - like a toddler clinging to her favourite toy. Spike bent to pick her up, his arms circling her body, lifting her up effortlessly, cradling her to his bare chest. 

"Can't," she muttered. Everything had caught up with her at once: whatever weird mojo was left over from the spell, the lack of sleep, a large helping of sex-related exhaustion, and now, to top it off, a side of intense emotional turmoil. Spike held her tight, then walked over to the crypt and kicked open the door, carrying her inside the gloomy vault. 

He laid her down on the sarcophagus, just as he had after the demon had made mincemeat of her. Buffy's eyes fluttered open and focused on Spike's face. It was human again, and his eyes were like two bright chips of ice in the sepulchral dark of the mausoleum. She reached up to stroke his cheek, and he didn't pull away. 

Spike was fighting a battle within himself, far more violent than the one he'd waged with Eyghon. He had to go, he couldn't do this. It was wrong, unnatural. What would it say about him if he let himself get tamed by this girl, turned into her pet, her obedient, neutered whipping boy? He wasn't going to let it happen, no way. Not a chance in hell. 

Having said that, her parted lips did look impossibly soft and tempting. 

"Fuck," he said, leaning down to kiss her. He was bloody done for.

Buffy met him halfway, rearing up to capture his lips, fervent and desperate. They kissed as if they were finally having the fight they'd avoided in the graveyard, battling each other, his hands gripping her forearms almost painfully, holding her in an awkward, half-suspended position above the cold stone while his tongue plundered her mouth.

Spike suddenly broke away, pushing her roughly so that she fell backwards onto the tomb. Then he was kneeling above her, his hands fumbling with the button on her slacks for a moment, before getting frustrated and grabbing the waistband in both hands, ripping them open and dragging them down her legs. Her panties followed suit, torn to shreds and thrown to one side. He pushed her thighs apart with one hand and freed his cock with the other. 

There was no slight hesitation this time, no half-muttered request for permission, no smutty description of what he was about to do. Before she even had a chance to react Spike was inside her, buried as deeply as he could possibly go. She cried out in mingled shock and pleasure, and the sound echoed around the draughty stone chamber.

He pounded into her mercilessly, her legs hooked over his shoulders, fucking her roughly as if he was trying to prove something to himself. He was still scary, still bad, she shouldn't underestimate how evil he was, he didn't care how she felt, if she enjoyed what he was doing. But she kept up with his frantic pace easily. Whatever he gave her, she just gave it back to him tenfold. She was like a bitch in heat, and he couldn't help but revel in it. They were well-matched, the master vampire and his horny, beautiful Slayer. 

Spike buried his face in her neck, nuzzling the soft skin, and he felt her first tense and shiver, then relax. He slid into his vampire face, then ran his sinuous tongue over her vertebral artery.

Buffy moaned and let her hands slide down his body until they were cupping his ass. She urged him on, pulling him deeper inside, lifting herself up to meet his thrusts, loving the way his pelvic bone pressed against her oversensitive clit. She was so close, the ache between her legs was delicious and agonising at the same time. He started to fuck her even harder (how was that even possible?) and just as her orgasm began to crest he sank his teeth into her throat, submerging her under a huge, crashing wave of unbelievable bliss. It was like she was touching heaven.

Spike came as soon as he felt her tight little cunt squeeze and flutter around his cock. He gave a roar of pleasure as he spurted inside her, again and again, her pussy clenching in time to his increasingly slow movements, milking him dry. His arms and body shook, blood dripping from his chin to spatter on her flat, tawny-gold belly. It was a struggle not to collapse on top of her.

"Fuck," he said again, weakly. He rolled to one side until he was flat on his back, looking up at the dark, cobwebbed ceiling. Then he reached out to pull Buffy towards him, tucking her into his side, her blonde hair fanning out over his shoulder. She still had her shirt on, and he felt momentarily regretful that he'd been so rough; so focused on his own pleasure instead of hers. Not least because it meant he was deprived of her lovely tits.

He fought the unwelcome feeling, pushed it deep down into the pit of his stomach. He was an evil vampire, she should count herself lucky he hadn't drained her dry. This was just a goodbye fuck, that was all. There wouldn't be another.

But he didn't let go of her, or move away. Instead, he just lay there silently while her breathing deepened and her body relaxed against his. She was so tired that even the cold of the crypt and the hard surface of the rocky tomb beneath her weren't enough to keep her awake. As she descended into sleep, she felt his lips lightly brush her forehead, and she smiled.

\---

When she awoke much later, she was alone. She gritted her teeth, willing herself not to cry. So that was that. He was gone, off doing god only knows what, probably killing people - and it was all her fault. 

Then, a second later, she noticed that she wasn't cold anymore, well, not as cold as she should be, anyway. Her hand went to her chest, and she realised he'd covered her with something; it was soft and fluffy - some sort of blanket. She peered at it more closely. It was pink and covered in rainbows and unicorns: the exact same one he stolen the first time around. 

Buffy wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, smiling sadly. 

It was a promise, of sorts. And for now, at least, it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so real talk. I started this story a few days after I finally stopped drinking. This story became a vital distraction and outlet, and so did your incredibly kind comments and feedback. It got to the point I was actually writing it for the comments, as they proved people were reading and enjoying the story. I'm now 2+ months sober, so thank you all SO MUCH for being such an incredible and supportive online community, and helping to keep me on the straight and narrow. I feel a bit like Spike, given a chance at redemption. If anyone is going through anything similar and would like to chat, you can reach me at whiskyandtobacco@gmail.com


End file.
